Devil of the Seas
by aikaterine26
Summary: The Doctor has promised to show Martha the Caribbean in the eighteenth century, but unwittingly traps them both on the Flying Dutchman. Xover with the Pirates of the Caribbeanverse but main focus is on The Doctor and Martha so I'll use this category.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Devil of the Seas

**Rating: **K+ for now, just for mild violence

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything or anyone here, I'm just borrowing it.

**Full summary: **The Doctor has promised to show Martha the Caribbean in the eighteenth century but unwittingly traps them both on the legendary _Flying Dutchman_. Soon they become tangled in a contest between supernatural immortals and arrogant imperialists for control of the untameable oceans. The Doctor is quite literally out of his depth as he faces some of his cruellest and manipulative opponents, who are also at war with each other. In order to secure Martha's safety, he must find the heart of Davy Jones, or risk losing Martha forever. Crossover between _Doctor Who _and the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ universe

**Notes:** Anybody who is hoping to see The Doctor meet Jack Sparrow or Will Turner is probably going to be disappointed. I'm not going to include them much, if at all. I know some people hate crossover fics because characters meet for the sake of meeting, so unless those characters are used as an important plot point, I'm not going to write them in. I like complex anti-heroes and would rather see The Doctor meet Davy Jones than any of the "heroes" - sorry! I'm probably goint to take liberties with the layout of the _Dutchman_ too because there's so much of it that we never see in the films.

Will possibly fit into canon for _Doctor Who_ after _Smith and Jones_ and prior to _Utopia_ but is **definitely** AU for POTC, because I'm setting this in the time between _Dead Man's Chest_ and _At World's End_ and seeing as I had the idea before I watched the latter I'm going to end up changing things quite a bit. May contain spoilers for season 3 of _Doctor Who_ and the POTC films.

* * *

**Chapter One:**

The sea was calm and the night air still. For once, the deep open waters of the ocean appeared to be soothed. Only the gentle breaking of very small waves was audible as they glided effortlessly across the horizon. The sky was clear, the stars shimmering like diamonds against a black shawl, fluttering against the relatively smooth surface of the water. Black merged into black and the stars were reflected in a watery mirror, seemingly moving in a slow waltz. After a few moments the tranquillity of this scene was torn asunder as a distinctly mechanical sound whirred around the open space, followed by an eerie silence. It was far from a return to normality.

Martha Jones, as usual, was the first to rush to the doors of the TARDIS. With a look of giddy glee across her face, she pushed open the police-box doors and readied herself to peer outside.

"I can't believe we're actually going to be in the Caribbean!" she said in a tone similar to a child who had just woken up on Christmas morning. Yet she did not step outside immediately. She looked over her shoulder, fingers still splayed against the TARDIS doors and her expression changed. The Doctor was _faffing_ and he was faffing so much he'd not even managed to pull on his coat properly. One arm was still coatless, and pressing buttons on the TARDIS console. "Doctor!" Martha yelled, snapping him out of his trance.

"Yes, yes…the Caribbean, hooray all very exciting…" muttered The Doctor, slipping his arm into the sleeve of his coat and shrugging it onto his shoulders. He leant forward to stare at the image produced on the monitor, after yet more fiddling with buttons. His bottom lip curled and he wordlessly reached into his jacket pocket for his glasses, perching the thick rims upon his nose and squinting.

"Somethin' wrong?" asked Martha, removing her hands from the doors and turning to place them upon her hips, arching an agitated brow.

"No, well technically, but no…" replied The Doctor, removing his glasses but keeping them in his hand at his side "it's the right century, and this _is_ the Caribbean but…" he paused and made a _hmmph_ sound under his breath "it's not looking very…Carribean-y out there," he said, pressing more buttons and adjusting the view on the monitor. Martha rolled her eyes and stomped over to the console, hoping to shoot her best _"this better be important"_ look but The Doctor was too enraptured by whatever he was looking at, or not looking at as it turned out.

"It's…dark," Martha stated flatly. "Where's all this sun, sand and pirates that you promised me? Untouched by the western world you said, a kingdom for those without rulers you told me, immeasurable freedom you promised…"

"That's enough Martha," The Doctor said calmly, though with enough sternness in his voice to quieten his rather talkative companion. He held her gaze for a second or two and then allowed a cheeky smirk to creep across his face. Martha had to resist another roll of her eyes; she knew that look too well. It was the look of _"I'm about to suggest something that will potentially get us into a lot of trouble"_ that she had come to appreciate…sometimes. "We're here now anyway!" he raised his voice slightly and leapt light-footed over to the double doors that had closed again as soon as Martha had removed her hands. "Might as well make the most of it, explore a little!" he beamed. Before Martha could protest he had flung open the doors (with a little too much enthusiasm) and disappeared into the darkness beyond. With a sigh, Martha quickly followed, stopping to shut the doors and causing a loud click to echo above them, confirming that they were within a structure of sorts.

It was extremely dark. The only light currently available was emitted from the small square windows of the TARDIS doors and that served poorly as a way of illuminating the endless black ahead. Martha felt like she had just walked into a house that was on fire, the dark swamped her vision and for some reason there was a bite to the air that stung her eyes. The atmosphere was humid, as one would expect in the Caribbean but it also had a hint of something fresh that Martha could not place. She paused, turning her head and straining to hear The Doctor's footsteps. He moved so gracefully that he barely made a sound and was being drowned out by another sound, faint but definitely easy to identify. Flowing water could be heard from all directions and Martha furrowed her brow. Perhaps The Doctor had found her some sea after all, but there was something quite puzzling about that moderate rocking motion beneath their feet.

"There you are!" exclaimed The Doctor, temporarily blinding Martha as he pointed a brilliant blue light in her face. _"That damned sonic screwdriver!"_ Martha thought as she raised an arm to shield her burning eyeballs from The Doctor's carelessness. "Always carry a torch Martha, torches are good," said The Doctor.

"It was bananas the other week," she replied, glaring at him as he lowered the sonic screwdriver to a more comfortable height. Good, now she wasn't in danger of having a blue dot seared to her retinas. Before The Doctor could reply, there was a quick succession of three distinct creaking sound and both Doctor and Martha stretched out their arms, feeling their way to the edge of the structure. It was amazing how one look could communicate such understanding between them, the creak had intrigued them both and so top priority was to find out _where_ in the Caribbean they had landed. Martha's right hand touched something slippery and she instantly drew back before she realised that another texture had grazed her fingertips. _"Of course!"_ she thought, the origin of the creaking suddenly more obvious. She reached in front of herself again and this time curled her fingers over a gap between two strips of wood, completely sodden with water. "I think I know where we are…" she mused, ducking down slightly and peering through the gap.

"You do?" asked The Doctor, shining that blasted light directly in her face again. His mouth was set in a way that bared his teeth, his jaw slightly relaxed into a dumbfounded expression.

"I think…we're on a ship," replied Martha, expecting to be congratulated. Instead The Doctor's forehead creased.

"Well that's maddeningly unhelpful!" he scoffed. Oh he was in for it now, he sheepishly looked down and braced himself for the tirade of a Jones's fury but when it didn't come, he attempted to soften his frustration. "I mean…what ship? Could be any ship, need to know if we're in any danger…"

"Sorry, I don't make a habit of eighteenth-century ship spotting!" snapped Martha, The Doctor visibly wincing at her tone, ah there was the fury at last. "Since when have you cared about danger?"

"Well…" The Doctor trailed off, almost dancing over to the other end of the structure and taking the light with him, Martha had no choice but to follow, stepping in small puddles of water along the way. At least, she hoped it was water, and she was quite relieved that she decided to wear boots today. "Depends what kind of danger," The Doctor's voice sounded a little quieter, as though he was now on higher ground "you can never be too sure and…ouch!" Martha failed to suppress a giggle as a thud was followed by a clank of metal. She reached the bottom of a half-visible stepladder construction and had just enough light courtesy of the sonic screwdriver to see The Doctor nursing his head. He was either rubbing his scalp or smoothing his hair back into place, either way Martha decided he deserved it for his harsh tone just a few moments ago.

"Y'alright?" she laughed, cautiously grasping the handrails and putting one foot on the bottom rung. It groaned beneath her, threatening to buckle under her weight, this ship clearly had a chronic case of damp or woodworm. The Doctor didn't reply, he had managed to open a trapdoor above their heads and was already up onto this next level as Martha reached the top and narrowly missed a smack in the face from one of his trainers. It was difficult hauling herself out of that small square of wood, especially given that it was extremely damp and difficult to grip. At first Martha was annoyed that her clothes were becoming wet across the stomach and on parts of her thighs, but that was nothing compared to the pool of water she unwittingly crawled into once her entire body was completely out of the trapdoor. She groaned and propped herself up, flattening her palms against the filth underneath the water that squelched against her skin.

"Mind the puddle…" said The Doctor, a slight smug tone detectable in his voice.

"You knew?" she hissed. Rising to her feet, scowling in the direction of The Doctor, whose back was turned. He was in full investigation mode, holding up the light to anything he could find and quickly scanning it.

"Look before you leap, Martha" he advised, popping his glasses back on and leaning forward to study something more closely. They were yet to reach the top deck, but this upper-deck was a lot more decorative than the first. He guessed that the first was purely for cargo, but this appeared to be the gun deck, the cannons scattered about confirmed that enough. What was most intriguing was the fusion of barnacles and shellfish with the body of the ship on almost every surface. The carving in front of The Doctor had a worn look of years of neglect but somehow managed to gleam as though it were new. Upon closer inspection, The Doctor discovered that the gleam was caused by the moonlight reflecting off an organic texture, sprouting from the grooves of the carving and forming a skin across the wood. He raised the sonic screwdriver and blue met with green, confirming his suspicion that this "skin" was in fact seaweed. _"This is bad…"_

"What've you found?" asked Martha, but The Doctor ignored her and took off his glasses, slipping them back into a random pocket.

"Martha…get back to the TARDIS," a tremble of concern clinging to his command.

"What? Why?" she protested.

"Just do it!" he snapped, walking briskly back over to her. She didn't move. "Martha I mean it, we're in serious trouble,"

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong oh all-knowing one?" she demanded, at the end of her tether with his annoying habit of instantly realising everything. This time, she wouldn't be going anywhere until he told her.

"I'll explain later, just go!" ok, she could've guessed he would avoid her question with his tailor-made answer. As far as Martha was concerned, this ship was abandoned and whatever had The Doctor spooked was nothing that two minutes explanation could provoke. However, she underestimated his sense of urgency and was quite surprised when he crushed her hand in his and dragged her back towards the trapdoor. Her pleas that he was hurting her seemingly fell on deaf ears and it dawned on her that there was probably a reason he didn't answer her.

Several cracks and creaks echoed about the deck and a rushing forth of rhythmic pounding followed. It sounded like several pairs of feet, but there was little to indicate they were _human_ feet. With each stride, a slimy united squelch was audible and whatever was causing it was _very_ swift. The Doctor was not even half way to the trapdoor and both he and Martha were already surrounded. The figures circling them were holding torches, but at a height that did not remove the shadows from their collective faces. Martha's heart was racing and The Doctor's grip became so tight she could no longer feel her fingers. It became apparent that not every one of the figures was holding a torch and Martha soon found the reason. Those holding torches had something that vaguely resembled hands and fingers, often covered in scales or suckers. In the flickering light of the multiple torches, Martha could see appendages that were definitely _not_ hands, instead some wrists ended with claws or fins, usually covered in barnacles.

"Doctor…" Martha whimpered. The torches were raised and the flames danced across a multitude of vile, _inhuman_ faces. The being directly in front of The Doctor and Martha lunged forward with a snarl. Martha's breath caught in her throat with a gasp as a semi-human face studied her closely. _"He's more shark than human…"_ she thought, trying to maintain some composure by reassuring herself that she had seen far worse. Still, the stench of the sea that coated this being's breath made her feel nauseous, and she was certain she might faint.

"Looks like we got ourselves some stowaways," sneered the shark, giving a subtle nod and the creatures behind The Doctor and Martha rushed forward, prising both apart and seizing them by the arms. Martha groaned at the pain of her shoulders being forced back and shuddered as a pair of slimy hands grabbed her wrists. The Doctor appeared to be unaffected. "_Bastard"_ she thought. "Palifico!" barked the shark-man. A hideous mangle of various coral life forms in the shape of a man stepped out of the gloom behind him. "Wake the Cap'n, he'll be wanting to deal with this personally" and with that every last member of this misshapen crew let out a loud cackle. A pincer jabbed into The Doctor's back, silently he conceded that things were only about to get worse. Before stepping forward, he took one last glance at his companion. She looked back, hopelessly but with a flare of anger colouring her eyes. She couldn't possibly expect him to explain what was happening as it was happening! Still, there was also a sense that she had reached a similar confusion. Whatever awaited them above deck was about to make the experience so far seem like a trip to Disneyland.

* * *

Above deck, the crew doused their torches and forced The Doctor and Martha to stand next to some decayed railings, covered in barnacles somewhere on the starboard side. There were no lamps visible anywhere on the deck, it seemed that these creatures relied purely on natural light. The torches had simply made it easier to find their trespassers; either that or it was a very cruel mind game. The sudden reveal of their nightmarish faces had obviously frightened Martha. Although the air was humid, the temperature was quite cool, typical of a hot climate in the middle of the night. Martha was visibly shivering, much to the amusement of her captors.

"Where are we then?" she hissed, leaning towards The Doctor whose eye line was fixed firmly upon the crew men watching them. He dropped his gaze, managing to half look at Martha without moving a muscle. She heard him suck in a breath through his teeth, displaying even more stubborn reluctance to just answer the _bloody_ question.

"We're on the _Flying Dutchman_," he whispered with a sigh. Martha was taken aback and her lower jaw dropped.

"You're kidding? First you trap me on a ship full of fish people and now you decide to tell me…"

"Enough!" a new voice silenced Martha's rage. It was commanding, impatient and apparently Scottish. _"First fish people and now a Scot in the Caribbean…"_ thought Martha, mentally rolling her eyes. Her internal chattering was interrupted by a thud. She shivered again and bowed her head, as that single thud alone had unsettled her and she certainly didn't want to find out what caused it. _Thud…pause…thud_ a regular pattern formed and each _thud_ grew louder. Martha could feel the blood raging in her ears and felt as though a sword was dangling mere inches from her head. Another _thud_ and she was chilled to the bone, the repetitive pounding like a nail being hammered into her soul. Silence. In her line of vision, and a single small stride in front of her feet, Martha could see the outline of one large foot and a leg that had no foot but instead ended at a point. As far as she could tell, the footless leg resembled part of a crab, which would certainly explain that ominous thudding. There was a knot in her stomach that grew tighter and she was seconds away from praying that this _thing_ would move on and interrogate The Doctor instead

It moved forward slightly and Martha felt something cold and slippery curl under her chin. Both arms were clearly visible at this creature's side, and Martha felt sick wondering what disgusting mutation was sliding against her skin. She could see a single tentacle doubled back on itself, and with a surprising amount of strength for something so flimsy looking it forced her head upwards. She found herself staring into a pair of bright blue but also very angry looking eyes that were the least unsettling aspect of this new creature. From under a tattered tricorne and framing a face of high cheekbones and leathery skin were at least forty tentacles writhing with a life of their own. Martha tried to look away again but the tentacle against her throat was resilient and pushed against her chin with considerable strength.

"Ye'll look at me when I'm speaking tae y'lass!" snapped the captain.

"You weren't doing much talking," Martha replied boldly, earning a scowl for her troubles.

"I'm talkin' now wench!" he snarled, another tentacle moving to brush a loose section of hair from Martha's face. She shuddered again, his touch was so cold and quite repulsive but there was also a fire rising in the pit of her stomach, anger directed at The Doctor. He made no attempt at defending her honour after being called _wench_. Oh, if she survived this The Doctor was going to wish he didn't possess a pair of eardrums. She was planning to rage until his ears bled. "As fer you!" said the captain, finally removing those disgusting _things_ from Martha's face and moving over to The Doctor with a single _thud_. "What is your purpose here?" demanded the captain, making an unpleasant popping sound with his lips.

"Ah you know, this and that…" The Doctor cocked his head in arrogant defiance. The captain's lips curled up into another snarl and he stomped forward, his skin almost touching The Doctor's nose.

"Don't test me pretty boy!" growled the captain, spitting water out of his mouth and all over The Doctor's face. The Doctor drew back, lifting a hand to wipe his cheek and studying his flesh with revulsion.

"We're explorers…travellers, got a bit lost, apparently,"

"Travellers y'say?" the captain touched a single tentacle to his lips and appeared to be lost in thought. The Doctor seized the opportunity to retrieve his sonic screwdriver, which he had slipped into his trouser pocket during the commotion below deck. He was well aware that numerous pairs, or occasionally varied numbers, of eyes were surveying his every movement so he recognised the need for subtlety. He kept his right hand firmly pressed against his leg and angled his elbow towards the sea behind, trying his best to create an illusion that his arm wasn't moving. He had almost removed the sonic screwdriver completely when a long tentacle shot out with merciless precision and coiled around his wrist, yanking his arm up to face level. The captain's expression became noticeably enraged and a different tentacle slithered along The Doctor's fingers, pulling them open and seizing the sonic screwdriver. "What is this?"

"It's a writing implement" The Doctor lied. The captain did not look amused.

"Ye think I'm stupid?" he said, raising the sonic screwdriver to The Doctor's eye line. The Doctor willed himself to not look so obviously distraught that his favourite toy was now in the hands, well tentacles, of his captor. Evidently, The Doctor didn't try hard enough; a sinister smirk crept across the captain's face, followed by a low chuckle. "Ye be needin' this fer something, aye?" The Doctor didn't even flinch. The tentacle holding the sonic screwdriver wrapped around it several times and was joined by another sliding up the lower part of the device. _Snap._ Until that point, Martha had been looking at the deck again but she soon came crashing down to reality upon hearing what sounded like a gunshot. It was worse than a gunshot. The first thing she noticed was the pained expression worn by The Doctor, his bottom lip trembling in anger and his brown eyes appearing darker in the bright moonlight. Directly in front of The Doctor, there stood the captain with two tentacles outstretched on opposite sides of his face, gripping one half of the now defunct sonic screwdriver. With a snort, he flicked each tentacle, one after the other and tossed the fragments overboard. Martha was certain that The Doctor grimaced as two faint splashed occurred soon after.

"You can't do that!" The Doctor whined, feeling as though he had just lost a limb.

"I just did, ha!" replied the captain, his crew creating a chorus of laughter behind him. Now it was he who tested The Doctor. He was exhaling so harshly that he sounded like a bull about to charge at a red flag. The laughter continued and The Doctor bit down on his bottom lip. Until now he had managed to stay relatively calm, but the loss of his sonic screwdriver had obliterated his flawless reserve. He was about two seconds away from unleashing a maelstrom of verbal abuse.

"Oh I get it…" he snapped, the laughter ceased and the captain glared at The Doctor, his expression returning to its usual spitefulness "…the only power you have is on this ship, on the seas…so here you are lording it about like some overgrown bully just because you can, when really you'd be nothing were it not for your curse" The Doctor brashly stepped away from the railing and began pacing the decks, breaking through the chain of crew men surrounding him. They were clearly too shocked to deal with him, rarely did they witness a man willing to walk without fear around their captain, never mind _insult_ him. "And that's what stings most, isn't it hmm?" asked The Doctor, turning back to face the captain whose tentacles were now flailing in obvious irritation. "Your curse is both your best and worst asset, how that residual sting of loneliness must burn," he paused, squaring up to the captain and titling his head to appear taller. It was futile of course; the captain still loomed over The Doctor by a good inch or two. "Isn't that right, Davy Jones?"

Davy Jones let out a bestial growl and lunged forward, raising the arm topped by a crab claw and clamping it around The Doctor's throat. Numerous tentacles wrapped around his upper arms and his chest, lifting him off the ground enough to make him choke. Bravely, The Doctor never averted his gaze, looking Jones directly in the eyes while his breath staggered and spit began to bubble at the corners of his mouth. In the background he could hear Martha screaming but the words were difficult to make out as his double heartbeat pulsated around his head and he contemplated letting his respiratory bypass system do the rest. Suddenly, Jones's face fell into confusion, and his tentacles recoiled in horror as though they had been scorched by something unappealing. He gently set The Doctor down and loosened his hold around The Doctor's throat, but kept his claw there and narrowed his eyes with suspicion. He turned his head towards the shark-man who had captured Martha and The Doctor.

"Brig!" he boomed and retracted his claw from The Doctor "both of them!" he added before taking his leave of the situation. The crew did not utter a word as they moved to seize their new prisoners again. All that could be heard was the increasingly muffled _thud, thud, thud_ of Davy Jones's peg leg, sounding a death knell for Martha and The Doctor as they were dragged below deck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**

By the time Martha and The Doctor had been flung into the brig, it was getting light. Naturally, the brig was in the bowels of the ship and its dankness reflected this fact but the _Flying Dutchman_ was not a ship that had been well looked after. In spite of the rather grim outlook of the situation, the literal outlook was full of generous gashes in the wood surrounding the rusted cage of the brig. Faint light filtered through rotting panels, lighting up isolated areas of the uneven floor that was littered with mounds of various sea life. Martha had been violently shoved into the brig by a creature she aptly named "Shell-Head" and The Doctor followed before the cage door was slammed shut with an unhealthy groan of corroded metal. Apart from a guard at the exit the rest of the crew quickly left, and Martha began to run over the past few moments in her mind, which mostly consisted of giving the crew hilarious names. They were the worst captors she had ever encountered; nobody had bothered to introduce himself. Apart from Davy Jones and that weird coral creature, Martha didn't catch any other names.

Unable to bear standing up any longer, Martha reluctantly sank to the floor. Her clothes were sodden from The Doctor's little prank earlier and so she concluded there was no point worrying about her £50 jeans, even though she was soaked through to the skin and movement was quite restricted. She instantly regretted her decision to sit when she placed her hand in something that reminded her of wet cardboard. In the half-light, she lifted the same hand to her face and gagged at the unidentifiable black sludge that covered her palm. Looking away, she wiped her hand against a coral formation at the back of her temporary (she hoped) prison. She then remembered the presence of The Doctor and looked towards him, hoping to see that he was already formulating an escape plan. Disappointingly, he simply stood sideways on about a pace away from the bars, staring at nothing in particular with crease lines on his forehead.

"You'll have to sit down eventually," said Martha, his eyes didn't even flicker in acknowledgement "no point keeping your suit clean now you've got tentacle slime all over it…" she continued, feeling awkward in the silence that followed. The Doctor blinked once and continued his staring contest with the rocks at the opposite end of the cage. Martha sighed and hugged her knees against her chest, thinking of everything she was currently missing, such as a warm bed and a change of clothes. She was just about to drift off to sleep when The Doctor finally moved, his trainers squelching against the carpet of seaweed beneath his feet. He was closer to Martha now, but still refusing to sit, instead he leaned against the very back of the brig; arms folded and crossed one leg over the other.

"I know you think you can't get us out of here without your sonic screwdriver, but I'm sure you'll find a way," Martha smiled, looking up at him "you always do," she added, but her expression drooped back into a frown after The Doctor didn't answer _again_. Martha shivered. The combination of wet clothes and genuine fear was making it extremely difficult to reap the benefits of the rising temperature. Martha had never imagined a trip to the Caribbean being like _this_.

"I'm sorry," he remarked rather suddenly. He then slipped his coat off his shoulders and held it by the lapels, shuffling over to Martha.

"Why?" she asked as he knelt behind her and gently placed his coat over her. She forgot to thank him but he didn't think anything of it, she was clearly quite cold and her instant reflex in closing the coat around her was enough for an unspoken expression of gratitude. He crouched, clasping his hands together and resting them between his knees.

"Because, I honestly don't know how to get us out of this," he replied very matter of fact.

"You'll find a way, you can talk your way out of anything" Martha said with another smile, more half-hearted this time. She had a pleading look in her eyes that almost broke The Doctor's hearts, how could he answer without indicating that he truly did not know what to do? He let out a heavy sigh and began turning phrases over in his thoughts, contemplating the best way to sugar coat his explanation and also avoid alerting the attentions of the guard. Unfortunately, some tact was lost when he finally spoke out aloud.

"Oh I don't think I can talk my way out of this, Davy Jones isn't the bargaining sort unless there's a very heavy price involved, we're stuck here for the duration,"

"Surely even something so…monstrous, can feel compassion?" Martha asked, that look of hope still flickering in her eyes.

"You'd need a heart for that," replied The Doctor through gritted teeth. This was _not_ the direction he wanted to take the conversation.

"Well, surely he has one?" Martha enquired, genuinely intrigued whether or not The Doctor was implying what she thought he was implying. He sucked in a breath noisily, and Martha tried not to giggle imagining he was about to tell her that her boiler would cost £500 to replace.

"He doesn't," stated The Doctor, dropping his head slightly.

"What?" Martha's mouth appropriately fell open like that of a fish.

"Carved it out…"

"Maybe that's why he threw us in here," said Martha, a wicked glint in her eyes "maybe he's after one of your spares!" she scoffed, trying to inject some humour into their predicament. Unfortunately, The Doctor lifted his head and seemed quite un-amused. Martha's spine became rigid and she cleared her throat "sorry. Anyway, why would you do that?"

"Ah you know…" replied The Doctor, ignoring her little faux pas and also using a tone of voice that suggested he was about to skip all the delicate details. "The usual reason, forfeiting humanity to achieve immortality, that sort of thing," he moved to sit down properly and crossed his legs.

"But why?" asked Martha, realising that she was probably pushing him too far. The Doctor sighed again, he wasn't going to get out of this.

"The pain of lost love was too much to bear," he whispered, eyes flicking in the opposite direction away from Martha "so he cut out his heart, hoping never to feel such agony, such…loss, ever again,"

"Is that what you felt like doing?" quipped Martha without thinking. The Doctor's glare could have burned holes in her flesh, _"don't go there"_ she noted.

"He allowed himself to become cruel, allowed himself to transform, to be one with the ocean, that which he both loved and despised," said The Doctor flatly, a definite indication that Martha's attempt at comparison was uncalled for and had overstepped the mark.

"Well, he's cold and slimy enough to be like the ocean," Martha remarked, pulling the coat tighter around her at the memory of tentacles creeping over her skin. The Doctor stayed silent this time and she decided it was best not to ask him any more questions. With a sigh, Martha dropped her head so that it was resting upon his shoulder. The last thing she could remember before sleep claimed her was being soothed by the steady rise and fall of The Doctor's chest.

* * *

It was broad daylight and the temperature soaring by the time the crewman whom Martha had named "Boils" stormed into the brig area. He was perhaps one of the more human looking members of the crew, his face was an odd shape but the only affliction he appeared to suffer was several mussel shells clinging to his face like a severe case of acne. He also had seaweed for hair.

"On your feet, scum," he said in a gruff voice, hammering the bars of the cage to rouse the sleeping Martha. She blinked, feeling disorientated as she had temporarily forgotten her location, while The Doctor had apparently not moved at all since she fell asleep. He was sitting in the same position, staring at the bars in front of them. "On your feet!" barked the creature again.

"Oi, alright, girl's got to sleep!" snapped Martha, rising up with a squint as it was still gloomy in the brig but the shafts of light breaking through the ship walls were quite punishing. The Doctor stood without a word, and slipped his hands in his pockets giving what Martha had dubbed his _classic defensive stance_, which also included a slightly stuck-out bottom lip. The being on the opposite side of the bars eyed The Doctor suspiciously.

"You," it pointed at The Doctor "Cap'n Jones wants to see you," it turned a key in the brig lock and roughly opened the door, bringing strain upon the hinges. The Doctor didn't move. "NOW!" yelled the creature, using his now keyless hand to finger the chain held at his side. More out of concern for Martha than his own well being, The Doctor stepped forward and took up a position beside this bossy hybrid between man and sea. As soon as it rolled the cage door back into place and attached the keys to its belt, Martha rushed up to the bars and gripped them tightly.

"Be careful!" she called as The Doctor was led to the exit. He glanced over his shoulder and gave a subtle nod. The creature did not see the nod, but it noticed The Doctor's steady pace and turned to him with a snarl.

"Hurry up!" it growled, lifting the ball and chain into full view. Knowing that a shot put to the head would be far from pleasant, The Doctor had no choice but to keep walking. However, there was no fear present within him, in fact he was secretly smirking.

* * *

As The Doctor was led across the deck, he noticed many familiar faces from the previous night on their haunches, obediently scrubbing the wood. Their efforts only seemed to slow the process of marine life creeping across the decks but it appeared to be more of an exercise in discipline. A fish faced being with a fin upon his back was standing over the crew as they worked, a whip permanently in his grasp. It wasn't long before The Doctor's educated guess was confirmed, one unfortunate soul began to put less effort into his scrubbing but was soon spurred on by a very audible crack of the whip. The scene was now behind The Doctor but the pained yelp that sounded immediately after meant that there were no warning shots, only instantaneous punishment.

The Doctor was led up to the entrance to what he guessed would be the main cabin and was abruptly pushed through the open door. He turned to protest but the door in question was quickly closed, cutting him off from the crew and more importantly access to Martha. He was suddenly feeling very alone but he had to admit that the scene in front of him was quite breath taking. He knew that the _Flying Dutchman_ was, according to legend, a thing of decadent and organic beauty, but this was definitely the room that confirmed it. A long, sparsely decorated stretch of floor led towards a magnificent pipe organ, the highest pipes threatening to burst through the ceiling and appearing so very alive in their composition. Not since the construction of a TARDIS had The Doctor witnessed such a perfect fusion between man made technology and living organism. He could almost hear the organ growing, he could feel its moods without a single note being played. Davy Jones sitting on the barnacle-encrusted bench was the last thing The Doctor noticed, and it seemed Jones had not heard the door for his back was turned.

Feeling a little impatient, The Doctor cleared his throat and Jones stiffened before standing slowly. As Jones performed an elegant about face, The Doctor noticed that his captor's other hand was relatively human, albeit blighted with sucker pads and a tentacled index finger wrapped twice around the rest of the wrist. Jones didn't speak as he approached The Doctor, the increasingly familiar _thud…pause_ being the only soundtrack so far to _this_ particular meeting. The Doctor found himself in a similar position to just a few hours beforehand; head raised as the two non-humans stood barely a foot apart just observing one another.

"Do you fear death?" Jones literally spat. The Doctor didn't even twitch.

"That won't work on me Jones," he replied coolly. Jones bared his teeth and made an unsatisfied watery grunt. He paced around The Doctor, never taking his eyes off his latest prisoner, who defiantly continued to gaze at the pipe organ.

"And what sort of demon spawn be ye who possesses twice the heartbeat of mortal souls and has plenty of those to spare too?" demanded Jones, lunging forward on the next step and pausing. The Doctor looked to his right and grinned.

"What indeed," he mused, returning his attentions to the pipe organ. Jones growled again and stomped over to the cabin door, opening it with violent force.

"Clanker!" he yelled, The Doctor's rather rude escort reappeared instantly.

"Cap'n?"

"Show him!" replied Jones, suggesting some predetermined understanding between Captain and crewman. Clanker grabbed The Doctor roughly by the arm and forced him onto the deck outside the cabin. It gave a very advantageous view of the entire main deck from cabin right towards the bow, and The Doctor could watch every last crewmember that was on deck as they moved to lift the ancient grate covering the cargo hold. The Doctor was overcome with concern once he realised that he had observed some grating above his head in the area where the TARDIS had landed last night, _"this is extremely bad"_ he thought, swallowing hard. A pulley constructed from seaweed, rope and assorted shells was swung over to the gaping hole and swiftly lowered. Mere seconds later, the crew formed a line and heaved the seaweed rope, gradually pulling the TARDIS from the lower parts of the ship. A creature with a starfish above his right eye tethered the rope to an iron hook and "Shark-Head" gave the order for another rope to be pulled, swinging the TARDIS over the edge of the starboard side.

"Yer not from around these parts, are ye?" hissed Jones in The Doctor's ear. The Doctor sighed, unable to tear his eyes away from the helpless position of his beloved ship. "To the depths!" snarled Jones.

"No don't!" The Doctor cried out, gripping the rail in front of him until his knuckles turned white. The crew froze, keeping hold of the rope but gawping at their captain, unable to gage his impending reaction. Surprisingly, he didn't raise his voice or even order that The Doctor receive twenty lashes for speaking out, instead he chuckled. "I'll do anything, just don't do that, again…"

"Yer little box means more tae ye than that _writing implement_" Jones observed. "What price would you be willing to pay I wonder?"

"I know that the East India Company has your heart…" Jones widened his eyes in disbelief.

"And _how_ would ye know such a thing?" he asked, jabbing his claw into The Doctor's chest.

"Oh I know my history, or in this case…mythology" said The Doctor. He faced Jones, mouth curling into a half-smile as he believed the upper hand was now with him. "Believe me, if you want me to help you get your heart back, I'll need that box kept safe," Jones made a thoughtful popping sound and his tentacles writhed, as he appeared to be pondering something.

"I'm quite tempted to accept that offer," he said, lifting a tentacle and ruthlessly wrapping it around The Doctor's throat without warning, "tis a pity I don't quite trust ye!" snapped Jones, jerking The Doctor's body as he turned to Clanker. "Bring me the girl! And ready her to go overboard…"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes: **Sorry that this update had taken a few days, it's the end of my final year at university so my week has been a blur of parties and going to see one of my favourite bands at Wembley Stadium. I know people say this all the time but I honestly didn't expect people to read and like this story. I was wary that the crossover element may be a bit off putting! Thank you ever so much to those who left reviews, I genuinely touched by your comments because I haven't let anyone see any of my creative writing for quite a while now!

It might interest you to know that I did consider setting this story during Rose's time with the Tenth Doctor, but I didn't think she would be able to cope as well as Martha with the situation about to arise in this chapter. I did like Rose overall but sometimes Martha needs some attention! My plans for this story gives Martha the opporunity to show that she can be independent, something that I feel doesn't happen often enough in series 3. She does need The Doctor sometimes, but I like the idea that she can get by without him too.

**Chapter Three:**

The Doctor could only watch helplessly as his companion was dragged onto the main deck. She was still wearing his coat, but this was quickly stripped from her as its length on her significantly shorter body was causing crewmen to trip. The shark-headed creature, named Maccus, forced Martha's arms above her head and tied her wrists together, tugging sharply and instantly creating visible red marks. Martha's protests of _"get your slimy hands off me!"_ unsurprisingly fell on deaf ears. At the same time, other members of the crew were lowering the TARDIS back into the cargo hold, and the grate fell back into place with an unsettling clang. Clanker partially climbed the rigging and fetched down a single pulley, which he then attached to the length of rope trailing from the knot around Martha's wrists. The snorts and taunts of the crew were stirring a primeval rage within The Doctor's core, but he reluctantly had to let it wash over him without action. He knew that one false move could mean the end for Martha a lot sooner; there would be no room for bargaining.

Martha's guttural scream as she was hoisted to the position previously occupied by the TARDIS was probably going to haunt The Doctor for the rest of his life. He shut his eyes tightly, wracked with guilt in the knowledge that this was indirectly his fault. Worse still was the fact that the crew had tied Martha's ankles together. Fastened to the ropes coiled around her lower legs was a bunch of three small cannon balls, ready to cruelly pull her to the ocean bed as soon as she hit the water. Unable to think of a plan that would actually work, The Doctor's only hope was that Martha would be sent quickly into the water, with the slim possibility that he could jump in afterwards and save her. Unfortunately, he knew very well that Davy Jones was not the sort to show mercy, his ability to tease his victims was famously documented.

"Down a notch!" Jones commanded. Oh this was _heartless_, The Doctor almost couldn't bear to watch. Martha screamed again, not so much from the drop but more from the pain of the ropes gnawing into her flesh. She stopped with a jolt, about ten feet from her starting point and was certain that her shoulders were about to dislocate. Still, she mentally chanted to herself that she wasn't going to cry a single tear, which would give the crew too much satisfaction. She wished that she were still hanging over the deck; maybe she could kick one of them in the face with the weights before they tore her legs away from her body, if she had to die horribly she wanted to make _damned_ sure she took someone else with her.

"Doctor! Do something!" she yelled, patience wearing thin. This earned her another drop, and she still wasn't level with the boat! By her calculations she was going to be dropped another two or three times before the pulley would release her.

"You can't do this!" The Doctor had finally snapped. Martha would have been relieved had she not been expecting something a bit more _heroic_.

"Oh you're bloody useless," she hissed under her breath as she temporarily stopped twisting from side to side.

"And who are ye tae keep tellin' me what I can nae do on _my_ ship?" snapped Jones, giving The Doctor another jolt before releasing him.

"I'm The Doctor," the reply came laced with confident authority, but Jones was not threatened. He simply laughed.

"Fancy titles don't scare me, _Doctor_!"

"Oh for goodness sake now would be a good time!" Martha groaned, a little more audible this time. The Doctor, aware that time was running out, pinched his nose with a sigh.

"Down a notch!"

"Alright!" The Doctor declared, holding up his hands with his fingers splayed "I give you my word Jones, I'll get your heart back," sincerity swimming across his brown eyes as he turned to Jones "just don't hurt Martha, please," the corners of Jones's mouth curled into another unpleasant smirk.

"One condition…" Jones purred, The Doctor nodded in defeat "yer blue box stays here…" Jones then looked towards Martha, who was wriggling against her bonds in a last-gasp attempt to fall out of them. "As does she…"

"What? No! That's two conditions!"

"The terms stand, she can go tae the depths or she can swear an oath tae the _Dutchman_, ye think I'd let y'both leave? Yer needin' some good incentive tae come back!"

"You're clever, I'll give you that, grudgingly," The Doctor replied, dropping his shoulders and feeling somewhat deflated. "Just promise me one thing…" The Doctor paused, already accepting that Davy Jones would never make a promise "don't let any harm come to her, and let her go when I come back…"

"Now ye have _my_ word, yer thinkin' I'm not a man of honour _Doctor_ but appearances can be quite deceptive!" The Doctor's mouth gaped in surprise. "Bring her in!" Jones barked, and the crew obeyed, pulling Martha back onto the main deck and ridding her of the rope and chains around her limbs. As soon as she was free, The Doctor rushed down the stairs from the upper deck to be at her side. Martha, who had been plopped roughly on the floor, was trembling as she rose to her feet. She managed to gather enough strength to run towards The Doctor and threw her arms around him, crushing herself against his chest. She frowned, his body was rigid and he didn't return the hug. Slowly, she leaned back, relaxing her hold on him until their only contact was through the fingers on one hand. She scowled at him.

"I'm sorry Martha," she gasped in surprise as The Doctor launched himself at her, this time throwing his arms around her and hugging her tightly. "I'm so sorry…" _thud…pause_ Jones was on the move to the main deck, and soon appeared at The Doctor's side.

"Do we have a deal?" Jones asked. The Doctor gulped, Martha was going to hate him forever after this…

"Yes," he nodded, loosening his grip on Martha and stepping back, keeping his hands on her upper arms. "Yes, I go and she stays. I get back your heart and you let her go…" his eyes began to glisten as though he were about to cry.

"What? No! I ain't staying here!" Martha screeched, pushing The Doctor's hands off her and folding her arms "Doctor, you can't make me stay here!"

"I have to!" hissed The Doctor through his teeth. "You either stay here or you drown. Don't make me choose your death!" he pleaded. Martha briefly turned her attention to Jones, who looked callously amused.

"Swear an oath tae the _Dutchman_ lass, and yer life will be spared…"

"I'll come back for you…" whispered The Doctor, touching a palm to her cheek and catching the single tear she cried as she bowed her head. "I promise, I won't leave you,"

"I swear," she said, her voice trembling. The Doctor embraced her again and pressed their foreheads together. He broke away, leaving her feeling quite cold and exposed.

"My terms are fulfilled," The Doctor directed at Jones, holding out his right hand. Jones gripped The Doctor's hand and curled his tentacled index finger around their handshake, partially wrapping the very end about The Doctor's wrist. It was the vilest handshake The Doctor had ever experienced, he could feel sucker pads nipping the skin on his palm and a viscous slime oozing against his fingers. It reminded him of impending death, that sensation before the world became black and his cells burst open at the seams.

"Done!" Jones released The Doctor's hand, and turned to walk away. The Doctor gawped at his hand and wriggled his fingers, desperately trying to stay composed. With a shudder accompanied by _"urrgh"_, he wiped his hand on the top of his trouser leg, no longer concerned with something as insignificant as vanity. Before he could gather his thoughts, he felt something jab between his shoulder blades.

"Follow!" snarled Maccus. The Doctor looked at Martha and shrugged. Reluctantly, they both followed Jones to the boat deck, The Doctor managing to snatch back his coat along the way. He slipped it on, lamenting the partially wet sleeves and ascended the small run of steps to where Jones was impatiently waiting. It wasn't much of a boat deck, apart from the usual plague of decay and bits of crustacean, it only had one boat and even that did not appear to be in a good condition.

"Yer lucky we were able tae recover this after Bootstrap's bothersome issue _borrowed_ it…" said Jones "which reminds me…" he turned to Maccus "send that treacherous sea slime back tae the brig, he's served his purpose!" Maccus disappeared and Martha was quite glad, of all the crewmen she had decided she liked him the least. There was something sinister about him having one eye on the side of his head, it meant that he could watch from two directions at once. Martha never did like the feeling of being watched, especially when it could be done so craftily.

"I assume, and forgive me for being so astute, that this boat is for me?" The Doctor enquired, feeling bold enough to let a minor strain of cockiness return.

"Aye, the Company be in these waters somewhere," Jones replied, ignoring The Doctor's relapse in attitude and leaning so that his mouth was mere millimetres away from The Doctor's ear "and yer better looking the part…"

"Shipwrecked," The Doctor muttered, glancing sideways and observing a wicked glint in Jones's eyes. "Well, away I go then!" he beamed with a slight sense of adventure. He clambered into the boat and was handed a lit lantern, an odd choice considering it would be daylight for a while but it would hopefully continue to serve him once visibility became poorer. He noted that the boat was quite small, barely able to fit more than three people within it, which was probably related to the fact that the _Dutchman_ was inescapable. Most people who ended up on board were there to serve out a sentence and it was impossible to leave. The Doctor shifted to get comfortable between the oars, which were currently laid flat against the boat. He was gradually lowered into the water, wincing slightly at the sound created by the rusted equipment. It was going through him like nails on a blackboard and one look at Martha's face told a similar story. He was quite relieved to feel the rock of the boat as it finally made contact with the water. As he removed the ropes from the boat, he sighed and readied the oars, pushing off from the side of the ship and turning ninety degrees.

"I'll come back Martha, I promise," The Doctor repeated, feeling slightly ridiculous as he began to row. Over 900 years of time travel and he was reduced to _this_. It was moments like these that made him wonder if there was such a thing as karma after all, though this incarnation had surely suffered enough? First he lost Rose, now he was potentially losing Martha, and all he could do was watch her staring at him in silence, getting smaller as he created more distance between his boat and the _Dutchman_.

"You better…" Martha muttered to herself, temporarily forgetting that Jones was still standing next to her.

"What's yer full title lass?" he demanded suddenly. Martha huffed, she was certainly not in the mood to talk to anyone and just wanted to sit somewhere on her own, even if it meant a return trip to the brig.

"Martha Jones," she replied coldly "and don't think we're related or anything, s'far as I know there ain't any squids in my family tree!" Jones narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to one side.

"I weren't about tae suggest such nonsense!" he snapped "tis a pity such a name be wasted on something so pathetic!" Martha fell forward, catching her weight on the railings in front of her, she dug her fingers into the wood caring little if any splinters pushed under her fingernails. "Well _Miss Jones_, yer welcome to go anywhere on this ship, _except_ my quarters," sneered the captain "now get out of my sight!". Martha waited until The Doctor was an anonymous dot on the horizon and then faced Jones with an annoyed pout.

"Gladly!" she spat, storming off in the direction of the main deck.

* * *

The Doctor had no idea how much time had passed since he left Martha to an unfavourable fate. The first part of his journey had been uneventful, the sea had been kind and so he was able to row at a leisurely pace. Unfortunately, the weather was as unpredictable as his temper and as night began to fall, the waves became noticeably more violent. The Doctor decided to pick up the pace, both hearts pumping wildly as he rowed like a man possessed. Adding insult to injury, a rumble of thunder roared across the sky, quickly followed by bullets of rain that hammered against The Doctor's lean form, stinging him and soaking him through. Smoky clouds rolled across the sky, shielding the emerging stars and increasing the force of the rain. As he rowed, The Doctor had to constantly check behind him, riding over the ever increasing waves that threatened to capsize him and toss him around like a piece of paper in the wind. 

Although Time Lords could withstand low temperatures, the nip of cold rainwater was still rather irritating. The Doctor's arms were aching and he was sure that the feeling in his fingers had long since left him but he persevered. Every now and again, a huge wave would crash over him, matting his hair against his eyelids and saturating his clothes. He would spit a jet of relatively warm salt water and groan in frustration as he attempted to clear stray droplets from his nose. Suddenly, the brig of the _Flying Dutchman_ seemed like a five star hotel.

The Doctor had no idea where he was going and the shrouded stars meant it was impossible to navigate anyway. The Caribbean Sea was famously large and this was an age in which it was only just being explored. Had it not been for his promise to Martha, The Doctor would have given up hope. The thought of Martha spurred him on, he gritted his teeth and roared in determination as a flash of lightning ripped through the clouds.

"I'll save you Martha! I promise!" he cried out, bracing himself as another wave rose up behind him, it crested and fell quickly, the boat no longer visible as it was completely enveloped by water.

* * *

Meanwhile, Martha had spent most of the day quite unsure what to do, she had not been given any orders or told what was expected of her. She had taken up residence on the port side of the main deck, resting her elbows against the railing and propping her head up with her hands under her chin. She did not know how long she had been slouching against the side of the ship, it was clearly an extended length of time for her senses were not operating at an efficient capacity. Her eyes were blurred from crying and any sounds around her registered as muffled, even the blood swilling in her ears was very faint now and she felt that any attempt to speak would come out as a broken squeak. She heard various crewmen shout _"down!"_ and thought nothing of it, perhaps they were moving something such as the TARDIS or a cannon. It wasn't until she felt the deck beneath her tilt at a slight angle that she realised something was _very_ wrong. 

Her eyes almost popped out of her head when she noticed that the bow of the ship was rapidly disappearing under water, followed by the front section of the main deck. She glanced up to the bridge deck, panicking. Davy Jones was up there, standing next to a so far un-named crewmember that was at the helm. Jones noticed Martha's anxious expression and an amused grin flickered across his face. Martha turned away, not wishing to witness Jones's malicious satisfaction. She decided to face the water head on, at least that way she would see it coming. In her head this all happened very slowly, but common sense told her that in real time only a few seconds past between noticing the water rushing forth and it reaching her ankles. She cursed The Doctor, annoyed that he'd saved her from drowning only to condemn her to death…by drowning. She inhaled a large lung full of air and stood tall as the water claimed her.

On the way down, Martha had closed her eyes. Although she could not see, she knew that she was definitely under water. There was a surprisingly warm sensation against her skin, and she could feel her top rippling next to her bellybutton. The pressure in her head had changed, causing her ears to pop. She couldn't hear anything, just the rush of water trying to push into her ear canals. She swept a hand in front of her face and the swish of disturbed water followed, with some hesitation she finally opened her eyes.

Unexpectedly, she could see quite clearly through the deep blue waters surrounding her. The sight before her was somewhat surreal, the crew were continuing their duties, unimpeded by their relocation _under_ the water. By now Martha's lungs were beginning to throb, her stomach muscles clenched and she felt as though she'd surely burst. When it occurred to her that Jones had no intention of resurfacing any time soon, Martha accepted her fate and attempted to breathe, willing the water to fill her lungs quickly so that she might drift off into an endless sleep.

In yet another twist, Martha discovered that the water was indeed forcing itself into her lungs but it wasn't affecting her. She frowned and exhaled hard, concentrating on the stream of large bubbles that left her mouth and burst with a slowed _plop_ in front of her eyes. This didn't make any sense, she didn't even need a degree in medicine to know that this was impossible. _She was breathing_. Her first instinct was to touch her throat, expecting that she had suddenly sprouted gills. When she discovered that the skin on her throat remained perfectly smooth, she grew increasingly alarmed, vanity seizing her. _"I better still have a nose!"_ she thought, tentatively walking her fingertips up her face, dreading the discovery of siphon sprouting from her nostrils, or worse her cheek. Her nose too remained intact, and she stopped worrying about her appearance and instead pondered the effect this strange sensation must be having on her lungs.

It was both wonderful and terrifying to feel seawater slipping down her throat through her nostrils and mouth. The most uncomfortable aspect was the temperature and taste of salt, the steady rhythm of water moving up and down her windpipe was actually quite therapeutic, it forced her to breathe calmly. She decided to go for a stroll about the deck, stopping every now and again to look over the side of the ship. She was mesmerised by the beautiful patterns created as the last light of the day breached the water's surface and filtered down to the _Dutchman_. Members of the crew occasionally paused to observe her, disappointment colouring them once they realised she was no longer panicking. She eventually guessed that in swearing an oath to the _Dutchman_, she had effectively become immortal, and she smiled. Now she was immortal, The Doctor had no excuse, she knew he didn't abandon her in hope that she would soon die, even if it took one hundred years she was sure he would come back.

* * *

The sea was still again and the sky cloudless. The Doctor had survived an onslaught of waves but was, unusually for him, exhausted as a result. He had given up rowing and allowed the boat to drift gently. Feeling somewhat delusional, he decided to rest and lay down in the base of the boat, staring up at the sky. He always had such a clinical approach to stars and space. For him, they were scientific fact and any natural beauty was always over emphasised by _silly_ humans. However, tonight he began to believe that he was the silly one, the stars looked like fireflies, twinkling across a spread of rich black cloth. He didn't see constellations and distant suns whose light was hundreds of years old, he saw gemstones and precious silver. He was overcome with loneliness and wished that there were someone with him to revel in the beauty of the night sky. The lantern had burnt out hours ago, all that was left was darkness. 

It took The Doctor a long time to realise that the voice he could hear was his own. Subconsciously he had begun singing to himself, a song with a name he couldn't remember but it had significant sentimental value. Rose had played it from her room whenever The Doctor had annoyed her. She would often retreat into her own sanctuary, bemoaning his lack of understanding her and then she would play _this_ song. At first she had done it as a means of calming herself down, but once she discovered that it actually really irritated The Doctor she would play it just to spite him. Naturally, he thought of Rose and believed this to be _karma_ for taunting Jones about solitude. However, his thoughts were not fixed upon Rose, he thought of Martha too and it pained him to know she was alone on the _Dutchman_, surrounded by creatures that cared very little for her well-being. He knew that Martha had a complex, believing that she would never live up to Rose but that was utterly untrue. He did care about Martha deeply, but the hurt caused by losing Rose was one companion too far, and had hardened him up. He was wary of being affectionate, and Donna's refusal to accompany him had dented his ego.

First light was emerging by the time The Doctor stopped singing, and he turned his head to one side with a sigh. He was certain that he spotted a ship in the distance but his vision was failing him. The Doctor didn't feel like being super human anymore, and gave up fighting the urge to sleep. With another sigh, he slipped into the realm of unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: **While writing this chapter, it felt like I wasn't allowing much to happen, I guess it's just a bit of filler and setting up the two main story arcs now that The Doctor and Martha are separated. Sorry if this one is a bit dull anyway!

Flaignhan – excellent observation. Martha could indeed try to hide in the TARDIS. Once she gets over the shock of what has happened to her, she'll hopefully remember it's still on board ;).

**Chapter Four:**

The Doctor twitched. It wasn't voluntary; his muscles were in knots and a spasm washed over his entire body. Another concern was the slight change in environment, either the sea was _really_ calm or he had been transferred to a vessel better suited at withstanding the current. He was aware that his cheek was flattened against something wooden and only slightly damp. Had this been the _Dutchman_ he would have been laying in a puddle. He half opened his eyelids, peering out through narrow slits and focusing on at least half a dozen pairs of very human looking legs. From the shoes and breeches alone The Doctor realised he was in the company of members the British Royal Navy. Less obvious was whether or not these people were one and the same as the East India Company.

"Do you want me to interrogate him sir?" the accent was thick and harsh. It sounded northern English, albeit different to any accent The Doctor once possessed. The Doctor closed his eyes again, feigning unconsciousness but it was apparent the flicker of his eyelids had been spotted.

"Now Mercer, let our new friend come-around first. He's clearly no threat to us," a second, better-spoken voice replied. The Doctor sat up with a start, opening his eyes fully and cautiously placing a hand upon the deck, propping himself up before rising slowly. He wiped his other hand across his mouth, removing the residual seawater from his lips. He stepped back as far as the space on the deck would allow, and knitted his brows together. The assortment of midshipmen and lieutenants in front of The Doctor were unfazed, as though they saw unusual things such as a man dressed out of period every day. In a world where men slowly transformed into sea creatures, an oddly attired stranger was perhaps relatively normal.

"Forgive me…" The Doctor paused to clear his throat and fixed his gaze upon the second man to speak, assuming that he was in command "but in what company do I have the pleasure of finding myself?" the man smiled, causing The Doctor to wonder if this man simply couldn't manage welcoming or if he was being deliberately sinister.

"Specifically, I am Lord Cutler Beckett, chairman of the East India Company, this is my clerk Mr Mercer," he motioned to the man who had spoken first "and this is the newly appointed Admiral Norrington," he said, leaning his body slightly to the left indicating that Norrington was the much taller man at his side. "More generally…" he continued, "we are the East India Company,"

"Oh thank goodness!" The Doctor exclaimed with a grin.

"You seem quite pleased," quipped Norrington "quite dangerous to assume we are friend not foe,"

"Well…" The Doctor mused, glancing quickly up to his right "there is that. But I'd also assume you wouldn't be talking to me now, I'd be waking up in the brig all alone…" he smirked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Ignore Norrington, he's probably worried you're going to steal his thunder," said Beckett "you are quite smart in your presentation for one with such a common accent, tell me friend, what is your name?"

"The Doctor," the reply came with a hint of irritation. _Common?_

"Doctor…?" Beckett trailed off, expecting The Doctor to fill in the gap.

"Just The Doctor,"

"Ah! A pretentious social climber, I think I like you," replied Beckett, his voice never leaving the same flat tone, making it difficult to gauge his emotions. "I have much to discuss with you Doctor, but I think first of all we should get you properly attired, I think I have a spare uniform in my quarters…"

"With respect, sir," Norrington interrupted "I believe he is closer to my height, and he has no right to wear an officer's uniform on this ship,"

"Do calm yourself Admiral, cut off some of the embroidery if it makes you feel better, just don't let our poor friend suffer anymore in those wet clothes," Beckett's tone was indifferent and scathing. "Doctor, go with Norrington and please do ask him to escort you to my office as soon as possible," and with that Beckett was gone, quickly followed by Mercer. The crew disbanded, leaving The Doctor facing Norrington, who appeared to be quite aggravated. The Doctor flashed him a cheeky smile, but soon let his face fall back into a frown as Norrington rudely rolled his eyes.

"Come along then _Doctor_," snapped Norrington, without stopping for an answer. He turned away, expecting The Doctor to simply follow. He never dreamed that he would think this so soon but The Doctor was beginning to miss being a prisoner of Davy Jones. At least his mean streak wasn't seemingly caused by a petty jealously, lacking in any foundation.

* * *

Martha Jones was suffering from backache. Since morning, she had been ordered to scrub the deck, on her own. Fortunately, her anger stirred strength in her that made a previously impossible task a breeze. Barnacles that had appeared glued to the deck were breaking away quite easily as she pushed against the pathetically small brush in her hands. Still, there was no point to this; she was certain that in a couple of days it would be hard to distinguish deck from sea life. The only positives were that the _Dutchman_ had been above water; save for a brief trip below at first light, and such vigorous deck scrubbing had caused her to dry off quite quickly. However, that didn't stop her mourning her ruined jeans and hairstyle, which had mostly fallen out leaving straggly wet strands stuck to her forehead. _"Oh well,"_ she thought _"I'm going to turn into a fish eventually anyway,"_ she then became aware that the creature with a shell across half of his head was approaching her. She knew most of her comrades' names now. This one was called Hadras.

"The captain wishes to inform you that you're relieved of your duties," he said in hushed tones with an indistinguishable accent. Martha sat up, resting on her haunches. She flung the brush into a bucket of water and huffed, defensively folding her arms.

"Well, what am I supposed to do now?" she demanded. Hadras, apparently one of the less confrontational members of the crew, was taken aback. He made a thoughtful sound before replying.

"You are most welcome to join the crew below deck this evening, we plan to celebrate your arrival," Martha was _definitely_ confused now; she stood up, eyeing Hadras suspiciously.

"You mean, you're being nice to me?" she stuttered.

"You're part of the crew now," Hadras answered with a light chuckle "and part of the ship, you are one of us,"

"I'll…" Martha hesitated "think about it," she smiled sheepishly, unable to work out if this was a trick.

"Good, we have rum," said Hadras, picking up the bucket and carrying it with him to another part of the ship. Martha walked over to the railings, once again slouching against them and staring off into the distance. Her eyes were prickling with excess water but she was determined not to cry. She remained in this position for a long time, thinking about The Doctor. Realistically she knew that it was too soon for a small dot to appear, getting bigger as it drew near, finally revealing itself to be The Doctor rowing back towards her. However, being in touch with reality did not mean that one couldn't hope.

* * *

The Doctor was staring at an unrecognisable reflection in a mirror in Norrington's rather cramped bedroom. He did not like his new look; it was absurd and was the wig _really_ necessary. He adjusted the cravat around his neck and stepped back, smoothing down the sleeves of his frock coat. Norrington had found an old uniform from his days as Commodore and had not cut off any of the rich lace. He resolved, with smug satisfaction, that The Doctor's lack of a hat would confirm his lack of status on the ship. After all, this was just a temporary measure until The Doctor's real clothes dried out, at least that was what both men hoped.

"You look ridiculous," stated Norrington, using a more friendly tone. _"Ah, there's a sense of humour in there somewhere"_ The Doctor pondered to himself.

"I was just thinking the same thing," The Doctor turned away from the mirror, "now…Lord Beckett?"

"Follow me," replied Norrington with a half-smile.

Beckett's office was far too neat for The Doctor's liking. He preferred an element of chaos, believing that being unorganised kept him on his toes and prepared him for anything. Still, the fact that Beckett was sitting at a small table elegantly drinking tea appealed to The Doctor, it suggested a relaxed and sophisticated atmosphere in which he could hopefully gain Beckett's trust. However, Mercer's death-glares weren't helping. The clerk was standing behind Beckett's chair, guarding him like an obedient dog. Mercer didn't need to speak; his menacing scowl already confirmed his dislike of The Doctor.

"Ah Doctor, do sit down and join me for some tea," said Beckett once he noticed The Doctor's presence. Mercer grudgingly moved to pull out the chair opposite his master, motioning for The Doctor to sit. "Thank you Admiral, Mercer, that will be all," Norrington left in silence but Mercer, predictably, refused to budge.

"I believe sir, I ought to stay," he hissed.

"Oh not you too! I told you Mercer; we have nothing to worry about. Now please leave, I have matters I wish to discuss with The Doctor…in private," suddenly Jones's words were echoing around The Doctor's mind _"appearances can be deceptive."_ At that moment, it occurred to The Doctor that Beckett was not dismissing his inferiors out of an act of kindness, more so to up the odds that The Doctor would talk. Yet again The Doctor was facing a foe with admirable intellect, except for Beckett was much more shrewd than Davy Jones. Beckett's cleverness was business like and calculating, Jones on the other hand relied purely on cunning observation. The Doctor could not help thinking that both men (if Jones could be called a man) were worthy adversaries, and he _liked_ it.

"I'll be outside then, sir," Mercer sneered, closing the door as he left the room. Beckett gave The Doctor a haughty smile and proceeded to pour him a cup of tea, not caring to ask how he liked it.

"I must confess Doctor, you look far better now you're properly attired," said Beckett, pushing an ornate tea cup and saucer over to The Doctor. One sip confirmed that it was black tea, which was fortunately one of the Doctor's favourites. "I have never seen anything like your manner of dress before," Beckett was clearly pressing for information, he wasted no time on pleasantries.

"I can believe that, I'm from very far away," The Doctor replied truthfully, with a crafty grin.

"But evidently not so far away that you could have avoided the _Dutchman_," stated Beckett nonchalantly. The Doctor almost dropped his saucer. This man was _brilliant_. "Don't look so shocked Doctor, I recognised the style of the boat in which we found you, though I don't know many other ships that are part marine-life, do you?"

"I escaped," The Doctor decided to be honest, "I was hoping I could find someone powerful enough to help me rescue my companion," he said, trying to appeal to Beckett's famed hunger for being recognised as a figure of world-authority. "She's still trapped…" Beckett's expression changed to one of amused intrigue.

"_Companion_ you say," he took a sip of his tea, "my advice Doctor is that ladies of her sort are better suited to such a fate, I wouldn't waste my time trying to secure the affections of one such as her,"

"Oh no, no! It's not like that," The Doctor gasped, partially offended but accepting the misunderstanding "she's a friend, I promised I'd keep her safe,"

"Oh?" queried Beckett, setting down his cup before standing. "Then I might be able to help you after all, if you are willing to lend your assistance to me first,"

"Which would be?"

"I'm currently trying to track the _Dutchman_, but it's proving to be rather difficult. Jones knows that he is no longer master-less, but he's being disobedient and elusive. I need someone who has witnessed the way he thinks, perhaps then he will think twice about running away from responsibility," said Beckett, offering his hand "do we have a deal?".

"We do," replied The Doctor, partaking of his second handshake, and at least this one didn't make him feel queasy.

"Excellent! Come now, I feel a tour of the ship is in order," said Beckett, _almost_ smiling with sincerity as The Doctor rose and joined him by the door.

"Tell me, does this ship have a name?"

"Hmm," mused Beckett "not quite, but I do wish we could think of one, the paintwork seems somewhat incomplete without a name adorning it. Do you have any suggestions?" The Doctor grinned.

"How about, the _Enterprise_," he mentally congratulated himself, he had wanted to use that joke for _years_. Beckett appeared to be quite impressed.

"I like it, it suggests good business," he replied, allowing The Doctor to leave the room first. He chose to ignore Mercer's twisted mouth and instead turned to Beckett, motioning for him to lead the way. The Doctor was far from interested in being told how many cannons were on board and what kind of wood had to be imported to create the deck but boredom was a small price to pay. He would endure anything to ensure that Beckett revealed the location of Davy Jones's heart, he owed it to Martha to succeed.

* * *

As vaguely promised, Martha ventured below deck once the sun had set on her second day serving the _Dutchman_. She had briefly visited the crews "quarters" the night before, and as a woman had been given the luxury of sleeping in the only hammock that the crew possessed. Romantic notions of chivalry were soon dashed once she realised they had done this to be patronising. Remarks about her fear of the water and name calling such as _"princess"_ had been Martha's constant companions as she tried to sleep. To be invited back below deck the following night as an equal had come as quite a shock. Even more surprising was that almost the entire crew had turned up to "celebrate" her arrival. The only two absentees were Bootstrap, who was languishing in the brig and Greenbeard, who rarely left his post as navigator. For Martha, the latter wasn't much of a loss; he had overtaken Maccus as her least favourite crewmember after an incident during the afternoon where Greenbeard had stepped on Martha's hand. Her screams for him to _"watch where you're bloody going!"_ had been met by a toe-curling snarl. Martha later discovered that Greenbeard could no longer remember how to speak and it sent a tingle of dread down her spine; she really hoped that The Doctor would come back before the same fate claimed her.

At the bottom of the ladder into the crew's sorry excuse for a sleeping area, Martha was handed a bulbous black flask. The crewmen who handed it to her lifted his flask with what she thought counted as a reassuring smile, and she shrugged before lifting the narrow neck up to her mouth. The liquid within barely touched her tongue before nature took its course and she gagged, spitting the small sip of liquid out onto the floor. It wasn't the alcohol that bothered her, more so the bite of sea water that bubbled in the back of her throat.

"God, that stuff is vile!" she exclaimed, moving over to her hammock and slipping off her boots.

"Can take it off ye if you'd prefer!" said Maccus.

"Will it get me drunk?" Martha asked curiously.

"Aye," a chorus of voices replied.

"Fine, I'll keep my sea water rum thanks," she took another sip, only shuddering this time. "Well this must be a happy gathering…" she swung her legs up onto her hammock and lay back just enough so she could drink comfortably "even Jimmylegs is here!"

"Careful girl, you'd do well to remember I outrank you!" the bos'un quipped, looking up from his game of cards with three other crewmen.

"I have a rank?" she asked, genuinely confused.

"Aye, well no…not really," Clanker chimed in, "but I'd be willing to bet even Bootstrap outranks ye,"

"Just 'cos I'm a woman doesn't mean I'm not capable!"

"Tis not so much that lass, just that ye _are_ a woman," replied Clanker. "The Cap'n hates women,"

"I kind of worked that one out," she boldly took a bigger swig of her rum, once she got used to the taste it was slipping down as easily as any spirit, albeit salty.

In spite of Hadras's description, this night below deck wasn't much of a celebration. After Martha had been told she was effectively the lowest of the low, she grew quiet and preferred to keenly watch the crew as they played poker. The problem with watching was that she soon slipped into a routine of idly sipping her rum, and every time she finished a bottle, another one was passed to her. It wasn't until she decided to sit up properly that she realised the room was swaying, and it wasn't caused by the sea below. She touched a hand to her forehead, convinced that she was no longer _real _but she was definitely pressing her finger pads to her own skull. The alcohol had warmed her belly but she was still feeling cold, a _residual loneliness_ because The Doctor wasn't with her. It took the eruption of an argument between Clanker and Maccus to remind Martha that she wasn't completely alone, and these people had accepted her, _sort of._

"I ain't takin' five years, y'had a card hidden!" Maccus yelled, rising to his feet and pointing accusingly at Clanker.

"Ye can't prove it, thems the terms, I lose five years, you gain ´em!" Clanker shot back. Martha was certain a fight was about to break out, and the last thing she wanted was to face an angry Davy Jones. She decided to intervene, taking advantage of her status as a naïve new recruit.

"What chu pleh…playin'?" she slurred. Both Maccus and Clanker turned to look at her, dropping their attacking stances in the process and instead exchanging a confused glance.

"Haven't ye just been watchin' us all night?" snorted Maccus.

"Yeah…I wanna pleh…play," replied Martha.

"Got anythin' to bet? We bet years of servitude but seems yer gonna be here for an undetermined length of time so that ain't fair!" said Maccus. Martha sloppily smiled and touched a hand to her neck while slinging half a bottle of rum down her throat. Her fingers grazed something metal and cold.

"Thisss necklacsssh…" she trailed her fingers down to the object hanging from the chain "oh no, wait, itsa key,"

"A key to what?" asked Clanker, _damn_ these guys could hold their alcohol and they had probably drank twice as much as Martha.

"I dunno. S'just a key," Martha shrugged again.

"A redundant key," scoffed Jimmylegs "ain't worth betting, y'just go to sleep, yer drunk!"

"I am not drunk!" Martha shrieked, leaping up from the hammock and dropping her empty bottle in the process. As the glass shattered, Jimmylegs smirked. "Anyways…y'know, I'm not shupposed to tell you anythink, but radios…they're gonna be big," even with her mind clouded Martha recognised the talkative, nonsense stage of being drunk.

"What ye on about, lass?" asked Clanker.

"Y'know, radios…meansss y'can talk to pep…people who are faaaaar away,"

"There be no such thing lass,"

"Is too, where I come from," snapped Martha, cocking her head. She then noticed that there was music, a haunting melody filtering through the ancient wood from the deck above. It gripped tightly around Martha's heart and made her feel quite melancholy, but she was curious. She stumbled back over to the ladder and craned her neck, looking up at the darkness of the level overhead. It dawned on her that she hadn't seen a church organ anywhere on board, and so she assumed correctly that the music must be something to do with the captain. "Doesse play that a lot?" she asked, gesturing upwards.

"Aye, every night," replied Maccus, after downing an entire bottle of rum. "Gets a bit borin' after a few years,"

"Yeah…" said Martha, half ascending the ladder "_shurrup!"_ she yelled. She turned back to face the crew with a smug smile, but the music continued.

"I wouldn't do that lass, he might hear ye next time,"

"But thatsss the idea," Martha replied, climbing the remaining steps and hauling herself up "I'm gonna go tell 'im to shurrup," she said as her bare feet disappeared from view.

"Someone should go after that girl," sighed Clanker.

"Ye seen the state she's in? Five years service says she passes out before she gets past the next set of stairs!" said Maccus with a grin…

Fortunately for Martha, Maccus's prediction was partially correct. She didn't pass out but once she was on the main deck she found enough distraction to forget her original intentions. The sky was cloudless and the starts shone brightly, a beautiful reminder of her travels among them. The ship was mostly dark with hideous shadows scattered over various surfaces but Martha was too hypnotised by the open sea directly in front of her. She was attracted to the idea of standing on the bowsprit, with her arms extended. Just for one moment, she wanted to believe she was a bird, she craved that feeling of being impossible to cage. She checked over her shoulder to make sure Greenbeard wasn't watching her, and then took tiny steps over to the bow. The damp coolness of the wood beneath her bare feet was oddly comforting. It made her more determined to stand in the slight breeze, allowing it to caress her skin.

She had to steady her weight a few times, but with dedicated endurance she finally managed to perch part the way down the bowsprit. She closed her eyes and inhaled, the smell of seawater was infinitely more pleasurable than the taste and it made her senses sing. She thought of all the times that The Doctor had shown her something new and mesmerising and how she wished he could be there, standing near her, boring her with constellation names. Then he would help her down from the bowsprit, offering her a hand and giving hers an affectionate squeeze. The Doctor was often distant, sometimes cold but those rare moments of warmness were worth the wait, and he made her feel safe.

The fresh air overwhelmed Martha with a sudden sense of sobriety. Realising that she had been drinking quite a lot of rum, she concluded that now would be a good time to stave off the inevitable headache. She was almost firmly back on the bow when her left sole came into contact with a small pool of water. It was like stepping on finely polished glass and she barely had time to realise what was happening. With a piercing scream, Martha lost her balance and fell.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes: **A much more popular POTC appears briefly in this chapter. I do hope I've made a semi-decent effort at capturing his way of speaking because it's something I've seen people get completely wrong so many times.**  
**

I don't know when my next update is going to be, I might get another chapter done by the end of the week but it's graduation week so I'm potentially going to be busy being kicked out of university with a degree in my hand! Anyway, for those of you actually reading this, I promise I won't take too long to update again.

**  
Chapter Five:**

Martha did not know onto what she was clinging but her instinctive reaction to curl her fingers had served her well. If she wasn't feeling sober before, she definitely was now and she fought her fear of looking down towards her feet. She gasped once she realised that she was hanging from the side of the ship with nothing but the sea, hardly visible in the night, beneath her. She peered skyward, realising that to get onto the bowsprit she had surely climbed down from the main deck. There was no direct connection and now that she thought about it, the bowsprit was hardly stable either. It curved upwards and separated into two, mimicking the jaws of a sailfish. In short, she must have been really drunk to attempt something so foolish. Still, the experience had been worth it, excluding the complications now arising. Worse still was the sudden appearance of a torrential downpour.

"Urgh, tropical climates…" she hissed to herself as she managed to pull herself up from the upper jaw of the bowsprit, taking care to watch her step this time, especially given that the surface was fast becoming ten times more slippery. Her next problem was finding the strength to haul herself back onto the bow deck; the brief re-acquaintance with the bowsprit had pulled a muscle in one of her arms limiting her movement. She tried to grip the wood, using the lip of a cannon port as leverage but the sharp ripping pain in her right shoulder made her grimace. With much effort, she secured both of her hands and attempted to rest her feet upon a ledge that was hardly a ledge at all. A little self-motivation and a mighty swing later, she had managed to move her hands to the edge of the deck, but her legs gave way and she slipped again. She screamed as her weaker arm was pulled free, she no longer possessed the strength to swing her body back into a better position and the fingertips upon her opposite hand were losing their grip. Her knuckles tensed and she pressed her finger pads harder against the wood, but she could feel the rest of her body slipping away from the ship. She could let go and drown, but that would require a lack of immortality and she made the insane choice that being on the ship was the better option.

By now, those of the crew who were not inebriated had gathered on the deck to survey the commotion. Maccus was cursing yet _another_ addition of five years to his sentence when his mean-spirited captain decided to make an appearance. He stepped rather impatiently up to his crew and used his clawed hand to spin Maccus around, so that he was facing away from the spectacle at the bow.

"_What_ is this?" Jones growled.

"The girl fell overboard sir," Maccus replied as Jones let go of him. Jones smirked.

"Let me know when she falls tae the sea…"

"Beggin' your pardon Cap'n," said Maccus, hunching his shoulders as though he expected a hit "but you _did_ promise…" he was unharmed but the anger that flared across Jones's face was enough to wound the first mate emotionally. The crew expected that Maccus would be sent to retrieve Martha as punishment, but to their most extreme surprise, Jones moved forward, stomping towards the bow.

Martha of course did not hear what transpired on deck, she was occupied with yelping and supporting her entire weight with just one hand, and that one hand was troubling her. Her little finger had slipped from the deck, and her remaining digits threatened to follow. She decided to try another swing, letting out a deep growl as she propelled her weight forward. Her hand only just missed the deck, but it didn't fall back to her side either. In a flash, she had narrowly missed the deck _and_ felt a clammy hand grasp hers. As something slithered around her wrist and pressed against her forearm, she already had some idea who had pitied her, nevertheless her heart leapt in fear when she looked straight into the fiery blue eyes of the captain. She had no time to consider the force of his anger, for now he was simply helping her. With considerable strength, he pulled her up onto the deck using just his "good" arm and Martha slid unceremoniously onto her belly. Her right hand appeared to be covered in slime, but much to her relief, the rain soon washed any traces from her skin. She mustered enough energy to pull herself to her feet and wiped her hand against her sodden jeans.

"Thank you…" she said. Jones's eyes widened in shock but it only lasted a few seconds, and his unpleasant scowl returned.

"Anythin' tae get ye tae _shut up_!" he snapped. Turning sharply to stomp back to his quarters.

"Fine! I won't say thank you in future!" Martha spat back and their 'audience' collectively gasped. Jones faced her again with a single _thud_ and his lip trembled, he was definitely going to rant and rave now. Martha even slapped a hand over her mouth once it registered that she had probably spoken out of turn. There was a deadly silence and Jones simply leaned towards her, touching a tentacle to the side of her face and forcing her to look at him.

"I'll pretend I did nae hear that lass, just this once!" he stormed back towards the crew, treating them to an earful of "what are ye lazy woodworms starin' at, get back tae yer posts!" before he slammed the door to the main cabin and the entire deck seemed to quake. The crew disappeared back below in silence, and Martha was left alone, biting her bottom lip so hard that she tasted blood.

* * *

The Doctor was extremely bored with standing around looking at open sea. Granted, it was a beautiful sea, shimmering with deep blues and rich greens in the mid-morning sun but he had been looking at the same sight for the best part of twenty-four hours. He had the luxury of a _slight_ change of scenery during the night but it was still water and nothing more. He had refused a bed for the night, telling his "friends" that he required very little sleep. An anonymous lieutenant had looked at The Doctor as though he didn't believe him but respected his wishes. Those on the early morning shift were rather surprised to see that The Doctor was meandering around the deck in exactly the same manner as they had left him eight hours earlier. The Doctor could hear the other men panicking, wondering if he was in fact a cursed member of the _Dutchman_ and that their ship was now in danger, luckily the more intelligent among them pointed out that they were quite safe _"because of the heart,"_

The men shushed each other with friendly elbow jabs as The Doctor walked past them. He pretended that he wasn't listening, but had already heard enough. The heart had to be on board this so far un-named ship. The problem was finding out _where_ and his gut instinct was that it had something to do with Lord Beckett. The Doctor slouched against the main mast and looked up to the sky, squinting as his face was bathed in bright sunlight. In the corner of his field of vision, he spied both Beckett and Norrington on the bridge deck, chatting to the helmsman. Mercer was up there too, but he was his usual grouchy self, making no effort to join in with the others. They appeared to be so engrossed in their conversation that nobody else's presence registered, and an idea instantly tugged at the corners of The Doctor's mind. With one last glance about the ship to ensure that nobody was watching him, The Doctor slipped away from the main mast and under the stairway to the bridge deck in one fluid movement.

It was difficult having to walk backwards, with only the occasional luxury of a glance over his shoulder, but The Doctor knew that discomfort was better than getting caught. He fumbled with one hand, feeling behind him for the door to Beckett's office, and was relieved to discover that the door remained unlocked. His hearts were beating wildly against his breast and he was worked-up enough to sweat far more than he had done in the baking heat on deck. He quickly pushed the door open and hurled his body through, turning in the process so he could face any unwanted attention on the other side. The room was empty but the atmosphere peculiar, for a room that contained no human activity, the silence wasn't _silent_ enough. The Doctor closed the door and licked his lips, trying to tune his senses to something he couldn't quite fathom. There was the faint sound of the sea, and men toiling on deck, but these were both outside the room. There was something _inside_ and it was thumping to a steady beat. It was subtle but easily detectable if the ears had been alerted to its presence. It was constant and mostly unchanging, almost like…

"A heart…" The Doctor whispered to himself. His tiptoed over to Beckett's desk and his eyes fell upon a medium-sized object that appeared quite out of place. How could he be so _stupid?_ During his previous visit to this office, this chest had been right under his nose, meaning that Beckett's smug tone had just acquired deeper meaning. He had stated with an air of superiority that Jones was no longer master-less, and he must have _known_ that The Doctor's interest was in the object that had been mere inches away. The chest was surprisingly clean for something so obviously old, and The Doctor was fascinated by the carvings upon it, the most intriguing being the double-lock set in the centre of a raised crab. He brushed his fingers over the small dimples, wondering where Beckett had hidden the key and then wishing that he had his sonic screwdriver. However, he did chuckle, realising the painful irony that Jones's actions had deprived The Doctor of the one instrument that could get the heart out of the chest. Seeing as leaving the chest behind and making off with the heart wasn't an option, The Doctor had to think of a plan B.

Plan B didn't seem to be getting beyond listening to the dulled _thump…thump_ and tapping on the sides of the chest for weaknesses. The Doctor didn't even have his glasses; eighteenth-century uniforms had an annoying lack of decent-sized pockets and so any close-up work was carried out with the threat of eyestrain. _"Perhaps I should change to contact lenses…"_ he sighed in his thoughts as his fingertips bumped along several square-shaped dents in the metal.

"Doesn't look like I'm going to get in without picking the lock," he said aloud, noticing that the squares were probably connected to the lock mechanism. He was scanning the desk surface for anything sharp or key-shaped when the door opened with a drawn-out creak. The Doctor froze, reluctant to turn around. He had been caught red-handed and if he were to talk his way out of it, it would take a much more sophisticated lie than _"I was just looking"_

"A curious thing, isn't it?" thank _goodness_, it was Beckett. "I didn't know whether or not to believe it personally, after all…cutting out one's own heart, it's the stuff of fairy tales," he stated, footsteps moving towards The Doctor, who picked that moment to straighten his spine and turn around. He grinned sheepishly as Beckett continued, "another ship found the chest floating in shallow waters yesterday, quite a fortunate coincidence really,"

"I…just wanted to see, well _hear_ for myself," he could've kicked himself, that was definitely a poor lie.

"I thought you might. The men seem to think you're cursed…" replied Beckett.

"Do you?" The Doctor was curious. Beckett's expression remained unchanged but was strangely…pleasant.

"Not at all Doctor," he said, moving behind his desk to sit. He thoughtfully crossed his fingers and rested them under his chin, all the while staring at The Doctor with interest. "Men aboard the _Dutchman_ are desperate, they lose all sense of patience. If you were going to take that heart, you would have foolishly attempted it by now, without caring to find the key first either," one side of Beckett's mouth twitched up into a smirk. "Then there is the matter of Jones's _pet_, were you an escapee I'm sure the _Endeavour_ would be half way to the sea bed by now,"

"You named the ship then!" The Doctor smiled, feeling a tiny bit disappointed that his suggestion had not been used. Beckett nodded but didn't speak nor blink, he was waiting. "And…forgive me, but you seem to be quite trusting,"

"Oh I don't entirely trust you Doctor!" Beckett scoffed, "I like you, there is a difference. And if you want my advice, taking the heart to barter for your companion will not make you many friends. There are more people out there who share my distaste for the supernatural,"

"Ah, I wasn't going to take it," The Doctor replied and there was that half-smirk again, Beckett wasn't buying this. "What I meant to say is, how do you plan on helping me if giving the heart back isn't an option? My friend has no doubt being forced to swear an oath by now," The Doctor closed his eyes in frustration; thus far he wasn't doing a very good job of hiding the true details of Martha's fate.

"Not so much _giving back_ but replacing, there are many fools in this world Doctor, all determined to prevent the inevitability of death. And if you're very lucky you'll be meeting one very soon…"

* * *

Martha had spent most of the morning checking ropes and tackles, replacing them and securing them depending on the severity of their decay. Her head ached but to a much lesser degree than the hangovers she had inflicted upon herself in the past. It was a shame that the benefits of immortality were tied to remaining on the _Dutchman_. Jones had been making his unwelcoming presence felt at various points as early morning gave way to midday. He didn't speak to Martha, he even appeared to avoid looking at her but whenever he did it was through narrowed eyes, suggesting that a night's sleep had done nothing to calm his fury. Martha had to keep busy, she was certain that Jones would soon use any little excuse to punish her, unaware of the terms that The Doctor had agreed with him. 

By the position of the sun, Martha guessed it was early afternoon and the crew were noticeably less productive. Various men were settling down for a little siesta in the intense heat and Martha could see why, other than the practical reasons, they dared to neglect their duties. Jones was nowhere to be seen and the lack of repetitive music suggested that he too was asleep. It was then that Martha remembered hurling drunken abuse in Jones's general direction, right after trying to bet her necklace in a game of poker. Her fingers reached for the key concealed underneath her top and pulled it out. It had been a couple of days but she recognised the TARDIS key, albeit groggily. She cursed at herself; the TARDIS had been on board the entire time!

Getting below deck without anyone noticing her required stealth beyond her capacity as a medical student. Luckily for Martha, she had travelled with The Doctor and had experience of hiding on Earth as an early twentieth-century maid; a sneaky walk seemed to come quite naturally now. She also faced a test of memory; the TARDIS had clearly landed in the cargo hold but ever since she had no reason to find her way back to it. Perhaps it was her good memory or just luck, either way Martha's first choice of stepladder led her directly to the TARDIS. The glow of the windows beckoned to her in the gloom, outshining the criss-cross patterns created by the grating above and she could just about see the familiar blue paintwork of that homely little box. She took one last look around her before steadily placing her key in the lock, and opening the door slowly. She closed it with a barely audible click, and slumped against it, sighing with her eyes shut as a feeling of comfort washed over her for the first time in two days. She had nearly drowned several times and had been accosted by a monstrous pirate or two but she had made it back to where she belonged. One problem, this peaceful idyll was suffering from a lack of Doctor.

She headed straight for the shower and scrubbed at her skin so roughly that she was sure a layer had been stripped clean off. The hum of the console room was ever-present, as though the TARDIS was singing to her and she threw back her head under the stream of water, willing the mechanical sounds to caress her eardrums and block out anything that reminded her of the sea. She sank to the floor, cradling her head in her hands and cried. It was impossible to stop, like a tap that had been left on all day. Her nose stuffed up and her eyes itched but the tears kept coming. Once it was too painful to keep up the crying, Martha finally hauled herself back to her feet and exited the shower, enjoying the fleeting feeling of being clean. She was clever enough to know that a change of clothes and repositioning of her hairstyle was out of the question. Even the idiot crewmen would realise she had been back in the TARDIS.

Martha continued this deceitful routine for another two days, sometimes visiting the TARDIS up to four times in just as many hours. Most of the time she would shower and then sit in the console room, staring at the makeshift leavers and imagining that The Doctor was rushing around kicking and hammering things. She even tried to imagine his mouth running away with him in a stream of self-congratulatory consciousness as he explained something, but such a daydream would require knowing what The Doctor was talking about the first time around. She'd smile, missing his clueless expression if she yelled at him to slow down.

After another half an hour of TARDIS sitting, Martha reluctantly left and locked the door. She tucked the key away under her top and patted the wood of the doors, her hand lingering over it for a few seconds. Any hope that she had found a way to make her sentence pass more quickly was soon dashed as she felt a hand grasp her shoulder and squeeze hard. It was as though her heart leapt up into her throat and fell into the pit of her stomach, and she could feel the colour quickly drain from her face.

"You're going to be sorry it was me who caught you, girl!" of all the crewmen to catch Martha, it was the bo'sun. It was almost as bad as being caught by the captain, because that is exactly who Jimmylegs would inform. In fact, he went as far as personally dragging Martha by the hair, not caring if she slammed into anything along the way. She struggled against his grip but he would tangle his leathery fingers even harder into her hair, and twist it so hard that her scalp burned. "This little _fish_ was trying to get into that blue box, sir," sneered Jimmylegs once he had brought Martha up onto the main deck. It seemed that Jones was already waiting, and was unsurprisingly _very_ cross. Martha was flung in his general direction and he leaned down to her height, grabbing her throat with his clawed hand when she attempted to look away.

"Yer testin' my patience lass!" he hissed, Martha stared at him, eyes wide and trying to defy the urge to cry in his presence. He appeared to recognise this and rather than tease her further, he actually let go of her, but that didn't mean he was any less enraged.

"You said I could go anywhere…" Martha's voice trembled but she almost managed to create an illusion of fearlessness, Jones secretly found it quite admirable in spite of his obvious dislike for her. Still, there were only so many times he could let her go unpunished…

"Aye, but that did nae mean anywhere _off_ the ship, that blue box counts as _off_," he snapped "now ye leave me with little choice…"

"Are you always this pedantic?"

"Ten lashes!" Jimmylegs chipped in and Martha turned to him, a look of utter hatred in her eyes. She then faced Jones again, trying to plead without words and it did look like he was hesitating. His bottom lip trembled and he was staring at nothing or nobody in particular, obviously locked within his own thoughts. At the same time, Jimmylegs had the cat-o'-nine-tails in his hand, clutching it with bloodthirsty enthusiasm.

"Ye can't do that, she's a woman, t'aint right!" an anonymous voice sparked a debate among the rest of the crew, with opinions very much divided. Some agreed with the first sentiment, others demanded that Martha be treated as an equal and her gender did not excuse the standard form of discipline. Martha did not contribute to the din around her, she looked to the floor trying to comprehend the pain she expected to experience. It had broken her resolve, and a single tear trickled down her face, coming to rest just above her mouth. She shivered and continued to stare at her feet.

"Hmmph," Jones made that now very familiar popping sound with his lips, usually an indication that a decision had been reached. "Put 'er in the brig," even Martha gasped in shock.

"Cap'n?" Jimmylegs on the other hand was clearly disappointed.

"I can nae decide what tae do with her!" Jones yelled with a single _stomp_ towards the bo'sun "and _unfortunately_ that devious little weasel made me promise not tae harm her!" he then returned his attention to Martha "as fer ye _Miss Jones_, I'm sure Bootstrap Bill will be glad of some company, now go willingly or I'll drag ye there meself!" he raised his clawed hand and impatiently waved his crew away, pushing Martha towards Clanker with his other hand and then disappearing. Martha was left wondering what could possibly be worthy of replacing a flogging, but she certainly hoped Jones wouldn't change his mind.

* * *

Two uneventful days passed by The Doctor but at least he was granted the luxury of dining with the officers and sleeping in comfort. The latter action was rarely needed, in fact The Doctor found it impossible to sleep more so than usual. He didn't want to, nor did he feel he needed it. For this particular afternoon, he had decided to resume a staring contest with the sea, but had changed the location from the main deck to the bridge deck. Occasionally the man at the helm would attempt awkward small talk but The Doctor stubbornly replied in short sentences, rarely revealing anything. He preferred to face with his back to the ship, elbows resting on the stern railings and watching the sea. Sometimes he believed he had spotted a _Dutchman_ shape in the distance, but deep down he knew he was hallucinating. 

"Very quiet today Doctor, for a change," at some undetermined point Norrington had joined him, hands resting upon the railing and overlooking the water. The Doctor turned his head and looked Norrington up and down, returning his gaze to the sea and sucking in a breath.

"This is all so…wrong," he muttered. Norrington didn't answer, and The Doctor recognised it as a polite gesture of being unsure whether or not an answer was wanted. He continued, "I mean, it isn't meant to happen like this, so much has gone wrong already…"

"What on earth are you blathering on about man?" asked Norrington curiously. The Doctor leaned backwards and rapped his hands once against the wooden rail.

"Oh nothing, I can't explain it to you anyway," he said dismissively.

"Who are you Doctor? You seem to have slipped into my world so effortlessly, like you're expecting something to happen. Then you announce that you can't possibly explain," The Doctor simply grinned, "you're an intriguing man Doctor, I think I am beginning to understand Lord Beckett's interest in you,"

"Interest?"

"Indeed. You're clever, and you managed to outwit Davy Jones, something that countless souls will testify is not easy," Norrington left The Doctor's side and walked leisurely over to the staircase down to the main deck, The Doctor was leaning away from the sea now, elbows propping him up from behind. Norrington turned back towards him "I forgot to mention, you're needed in Lord Beckett's office and I'll warn you now, you better be good at understanding rapid fire witticisms…"

"Oh I wouldn't worry about that Admiral," The Doctor replied cheekily "I practically invented rapid fire witticisms!"

* * *

A sight to which he had become accustomed greeted The Doctor once in Beckett's office. The chairman of the East India Company was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, flanked by his unofficial bodyguard who came complete with that typical Yorkshireman's frown. However, the out of place nature of the Dead Man's Chest had well and truly been relegated to second place. There, opposite Beckett, was a man dressed in a manner that The Doctor could only compare to the modern day rockstar, albeit in eighteenth-century form. This man was clearly a pirate; his jacket lacked any fancy stitching and both his shirt and hair looked as though they hadn't seen soap and water in many years. He was swaying slightly, and something told The Doctor that it was nothing to do with the motion of the sea below. The Doctor stepped up at the third man's side and looked him up and down with uncertainty. The man didn't say anything, he simply returned the compliment through black-rimmed eyes and flashed a silly grin. 

"Ah Doctor, it is my rather unfortunate pleasure to have to introduce you to Jack Sparrow," said Beckett.

"Captain," the third man quipped, holding up his hands to protest innocence as soon as Mercer glared at him.

"Mr…sorry _Captain_ Sparrow finds himself in a spot of bother Doctor," Beckett stepped forward one pace, tilting his head up so to look Sparrow in the eyes "he's my prisoner, but he has vital information about an illegal gathering, do you think I am right to let him lead us to them? Should I trust him?" said Beckett, switching his gaze to The Doctor who noisily hesitated with his mouth half open.

"Well…" he replied, blinking rapidly "depends on how honourable…"

"Pirates are never honourable" Mercer gruffly interrupted.

"I can be honourable, I give you my word," slurred Sparrow "in fact…" he began to pace around the other three men, swaggering in a strangely ladylike manner "I have _more_ information, but if you're not going to trust me, I hardly see the point of disclosing the information of which I can disclose if I so choose to do so because you're not going to trust me, and what's the use in that eh? You're left with information from a source that you do not trust and then we're back to square one, a rather frustrating predicament do you not think?" The Doctor gawped at Sparrow in horror, recognising his own habit for ranting and the annoyance it undoubtedly caused.

"Did any of that make sense to you at all? I was hoping you could translate Idiot," Beckett asked, rolling his eyes.

"Not a word, blimey…you're worse than me!" The Doctor replied. Sparrow gave a half-bow and another foolish grin slid across his face.

"I thought it made perfect sense, perhaps you've had a bit too much rum, ay mate?" said Sparrow, Beckett guffawed.

"Alright Sparrow, that's quite enough, tell me this new information and I might consider letting you lead us to your friends that you're about to double-cross in a treacherous manner," said Beckett, he then addressed The Doctor alone "pirates, once a pirate always a pirate" he said, shaking his head. The Doctor nodded in agreement.

"Well," said Sparrow, beginning another dizzy journey about the others, on this occasion it was The Doctor rolling his eyes. "It would seem that my ship, the _Black Pearl_, has become the temporary abode of a certain sea goddess, a goddess of significant significance…"

"Oh for goodness sake, stand still!" snapped The Doctor. Sparrow came to a sudden halt and looked offended, his mouth drooped at the corners and he lowered his hands, turning away to stare at a wall.

"Well there was no need for that…" he mumbled.

"Sparrow!" growled Beckett.

"It would seem that our mutual friend here wishes for me to continue," said Sparrow, half turning his head and looking over his shoulder toward The Doctor. "Well," he spun on a heel and rooted himself firmly in front of Beckett again. "We have _Calypso_," Sparrow held up his hands, adopting an "_applause please"_ stance. "Also known as Tia Dalma. Also known as she who was bound to human form by the First Brethren Court of the Pirate Lords. Also known as…" he paused "the lady love of one Davy Jones,"

"Does this have a point, Sparrow?" Beckett sighed.

"Now it's your turn to be rude," Sparrow pointed at Beckett with an insolent smile.

"Well, you will take six hours to make a point," said The Doctor.

"Now he's being rude again, this is quite unfair, I was dead a few days ago. Takes a while for a man to get over that, coming back from that darkened abyss, that torturous realm, that seemingly reversible yet irreversible process,"

"Easily done," The Doctor chimed in superior tones, yet his reference was lost on these people. They all believed him to be human.

"Now where was I?" Sparrow mused, righting himself when he leaned slightly to the left "ah! Calypso, did you know that the _new_ Brethren Court intend to free her? Ay?"

"Well, I do now," replied Beckett, completely unfazed.

"Mate, I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of a freed Calypso, there's a lot of anger pent up within her deceptively sweet exterior, poor dear, and if she finds out you've got ol' fish face's heart, that fury's goin' to be unleashed…" Sparrow leaned his face close to Beckett's "on you…"

"Then we'll simply have to rid ourselves of a minor inconvenience," said Beckett, moving so close that he could smell Sparrow's noxious breath "bring me Calypso or…" a pause was followed by a click and Mercer was now holding a gun to Sparrow's head "I'll send you back from whence you came," Sparrow was overcome with uncertainty but a look at The Doctor was no help, The Doctor shrugged and was quietly amused. It made a change to watch someone else force his own way into an unfavourable deal.

"Done," said Sparrow, offering his hand. Beckett rolled his eyes again but shook Sparrow's hand anyway, albeit while trying to maintain minimal contact.

"Good. Mr Mercer, make sure _Captain_ Sparrow is sent on his merry way back to the _Black Pearl_…and if he so much as breathes out of turn, feel free to beat him," Beckett's request was met by an unsettlingly pleased smile from Mercer, who roughly pushed Jack Sparrow out of the door. The Doctor was relieved that they had both gone, Mercer's presence annoyed him and Sparrow's elaborate way of speaking had given him a headache.

"What do you need Calypso for?" The Doctor enquired _"and I'm sure she never did end up with the East India Company"_ he thought as he waited for Beckett to answer.

"I know somebody who wants her to be killed," replied Beckett, walking over to the Dead Man's Chest and fluttering his fingers over the top "and if it stops that band of law-breaking vagabonds from releasing her, then I intend to see such a request become a reality…"


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes:** Sorry this chapter has taken so long! I was Internet-less for a few days and I really wasn't happy with this chapter so have edited it quite a few times. Unfortunately, Martha and The Doctor are still in different places but I promise there's a reunion planned for either the next chapter or the one after that. Thank you for reading and reviewing. I hope this chapter isn't a let down!

**Chapter Six:**

"Home sweet home," Martha sighed after the cage-door slammed shut behind her. She returned to the exact same place she had been sitting just a few days earlier and it was like slipping into a pair of comfy shoes. Well, perhaps not entirely comfortable but at least she was used to this place. She settled down, taking care to watch where she was placing her hands and resigned herself to a night or two of solitude. At least, that was what she thought…

"Still determined to make your stay here even harder I see," something stirred in the shadows. Martha immediately followed the voice, crawling across the floor to the opposite side of the brig. There, propped up on a slightly raised piece of flooring and with his back to the wall, was the starfish man who had been thrown back into the brig just before The Doctor had departed. _"Ah, so this is Bootstrap…" _Martha observed.

"I don't see how _not_ getting flogged makes things harder," said Martha, rolling her eyes. Bootstrap's eyelids fluttered open but he kept his head down. He was drumming his fingers against his knees as though Martha's presence hadn't really registered, he may as well have been talking to himself. Silence engulfed the brig and Martha crawled back a couple of paces to rest against some free wall space. She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.

"Keep exhaling like that and you'll blow us off course," Bootstrap sighed sarcastically. Martha shifted, using her legs to support her and leaning to her left so that she could see her cellmate. This time, he lifted his head and slowly turned it towards her, finally acknowledging Martha's presence with his eyes. "No need to stare, you'll start looking like this soon enough,"

"I won't!" snapped Martha, dropping her gaze.

"Have you touched your hair lately?" Bootstrap paused as Martha tentatively raised one hand but did not let it come into contact with her head "you're already on your way, go on…touch it," Martha hovered her fingers over the middle of her head, lowering them to her parting and visibly shaking. Since her hair had become untameable, it had set into a centre parting, creating an untidy fringe that swept across her forehead. Martha touched this first and discovered that it still felt like normal hair, albeit a bit matted with damp. Her hand fluttered back up to her parting and she pressed her fingers down in the middle of her head, she touched something thick and flat with a slippery texture and let out a quietened gasp. Trembling more violently, she pinched the alien object between finger and thumb, pulling it away from the main body of hair so that she could look at it. She felt sick, attached to her head was a very long and very green piece of seaweed. She tried to pull it out but the only thing that achieved was pain. She had looked in a mirror just this morning and her hair had been normal, to discover this now added to her growing list of woes.

"No…" she whispered, continuing to pull at the root.

"Happens quickly, doesn't it?" asked Bootstrap "you're fine and then suddenly…you get a piece of seaweed in your hair. Next thing you know, you have a starfish on your face…oh stop doing that, it won't come out,"

"Can I stop this?" Martha fixed her eyes on Bootstrap, pleading for a positive answer. He sighed again, this time more piteously.

"No," he dropped his head back to its original position "as I told my son, there's no escaping the _Dutchman_, not until your sentence has passed,"

"Son?"

"Word of advice…" Bootstrap dodged the question "your stay will pass a lot more pleasantly if the captain is on your side…" he looked at Martha with an awkward smile, one that suggested he was not simply advising her but _telling_ her.

"Well, that ain't going to happen, he obviously hates women," Martha replied.

"Then you're going to have to give him reason not to hate you!" snapped Bootstrap.

"You're kidding? Somethin' tells me he passed the class on Deceitful Women with flying colours! It just ain't going to happen!" Martha pouted and re-crossed her arms.

"Yeah, the sort of woman _she_ was will do that to you," said Bootstrap, closing his eyes "suit yourself then," he didn't speak again after that and Martha concluded that he was probably asleep. She couldn't achieve the same result; she was too tense and kept her eyes fixed on the entrance to the brig, waiting for her punishment to arrive.

"The captain wishes to see you…" with those words, Hadras had brought the punishment to Martha a lot sooner than she had been anticipating.

* * *

The Doctor had taken up permanent residence on the bridge deck, staring out to sea. Occasionally he'd spot a bird and try to name its species, feeling tormented on those rare occasions when he realised he could not. It meant admitting that he _didn't_ know everything. Soon, he found himself in a trance and the material world about him melted away into an endless stretch of blue sky. He was lost in his thoughts, and those too emphasised his loneliness. Since Martha had been taken away from him, he had regressed back to thinking purely in his native tongue. Of course, he was still in the presence of those who used English but he wanted to converse with them as little as possible, and even _thinking_ in English became too much of a chore. It was a harsh reminder that he was the last, and given the current circumstances it worried him that he would waste the rest of his lives making poorly thought-out deals with selfish seafarers. 

His thoughts splintered, shot to pieces by an incomprehensible explosion of a disparate group of voices. It sounded like there was a commotion brewing on the main deck, and The Doctor actually grinned from ear to ear. _"Finally, some excitement"_ Without caring to investigate from the higher ground first, he leapt over to the staircase and flew down with such speed that he had to hold his silly wig down with one hand. His hearts sank a little when he saw that Jack Sparrow had returned but even more curious was that nobody was restraining him, instead they were concentrating all their efforts in holding a small but definitely feisty woman. Jack on the other hand was trying to force his way through the circle of midshipmen, finding himself barred by their shoulders and choosing to gesticulate wildly as he made his case. Most of the woman's bile was apparently directed at Sparrow. The Doctor moved closer, tired of being unable to understand what the fuss was about and hoping that Sparrow was feeling more articulate.

"Sorry luv, but I promise, I'm already thinking of a way in which to get you out of this mess," Sparrow was still slurring words, but thank goodness for small mercies, he was using shorter sentences.

"You won't be gettin' me oot of dis _Jack Sparrow!_" the woman spat, trying to tear away from her captors and lunging towards Sparrow, whose face gave an uncomfortable twitch as he stepped back one pace. "After all that I be doin' for you, brought you back from de locker…"

"Ah, can you believe it Mercer? He actually came back!" Beckett's interruption stilled the air somewhat, but this new woman continued to glare daggers at Sparrow, who had tiptoed over to The Doctor, using him as a human shield. Nobody had even seen Beckett arrive, they had been so occupied with trying to restrain the woman and ignore Sparrow, the latter being achieved with little success. The Doctor turned to greet Beckett with a nod, and Sparrow's head humorously popped up from behind one of The Doctor's shoulders.

"Gentlemen," said Sparrow, The Doctor sighed and reached behind, pulling Sparrow by the shirt and shoving him to the front. Such action made The Doctor feel assimilated; he had been on this ship far too long and was beginning to exhibit brutish tendencies. Although, he had to confess that Sparrow needed to be pushed around a bit, there was barely enough room for _two_ egos on the _Endeavour_, a third was ridiculous. "Thanks mate," Sparrow added sarcastically "as promised, Tia Dalma" he flattened out his hand, exposing his palm and gestured towards the woman. She curled her mouth into a snarl but had given up struggling.

"For a goddess, you're quite disappointing," Beckett sneered. Tia Dalma hissed at him but he was not deterred, he stepped towards her, confident that the men surrounding her protected him. "Then again, you are _human_,"

"Lord Beckett…" The Doctor piped up, "I don't think teasing her would be a good idea," he said, stammering.

"Teasin' being de only power him have," Tia lurched forward again and managed to free one hand, reaching far enough forward to lightly cup The Doctor's chin "_Docta…_" The Doctor shuddered under her touch, but fortunately one of the men grasped her wrist and forced her hand back behind her. Still, the look in her eyes remained one of amused playfulness.

"How do you know my name?"

"She does that," said Sparrow, who was now being watched very closely by Mercer.

"Are you still here?" sighed Beckett.

"I don't recall anyone ever tellin' me to leave. Else I would've left by now," replied Sparrow, eyes nervously shifting from man to man. "Though this negates the fact that I am a pirate, and we have already established that I am a man whom you do not trust. So me waitin' to be _told_ to leave could be just a rouse, when really I'm planning an over-elaborate escape and you be left cursing your negligence, savvy?"

"Oh don't start that again…" The Doctor groaned. Beckett stepped up to Sparrow, his shoulders held high to compensate for the height difference and he flashed a patronising smile.

"I don't think you've done enough to prevent a killing," said Beckett and Sparrow arched his body backwards "your friends, lead us to them!"

"Mate, I already got you Calypso, can you not grant me the pleasure of a day off?"

"You can have a _permanent_ day off," Mercer growled sinisterly. Jack instantly backed down, his hands dangling loosely at his sides in defeat.

"Alright, I lead, you follow and nobody even thinks about rearranging our pre-arranged previous agreement," Sparrow slurred, he paused and wiped his right hand under his nose "though at present I have absolutely no idea where we're goin', probably callin' in the troops," he smiled and offered his hand to Beckett, who wrinkled his nose. Behind his back, The Doctor was smirking.

"There's no need for that," said Beckett. "Just go!" Sparrow performed a mock bow and climbed back into his longboat, readying himself to be lowered into the sea by Beckett's men. Beckett let out a frustrated sigh and turned towards the stern, addressing the crew in general "send the _sea _goddess to the brig and then summon the _Dutchman_ immediately," he commanded. The Doctor grabbed Beckett's shoulder, forcing him to turn again.

"Wait, you can do that?" The Doctor was genuinely confused. Beckett's mouth smugly curled.

"You didn't honestly believe that I truly did not have the means to track that ship _without_ your help?" Beckett asked in amused tones.

"You said you needed me, and if you're not actually chasing something that makes me a prisoner," The Doctor hissed, visibly annoyed.

"Oh come now Doctor, you're not a prisoner. Calypso is a prisoner, look at her…" he motioned towards Tia Dalma, who was being pulled along by ropes and dragged below deck "she's bound and on her way to the brig, a stark contrast to how we treated you. Besides, I still need you,"

"I don't understand"

"Jones has already been here several times," said Beckett with another smile, The Doctor felt wounded and it was reflected by a flash of misery in his eyes "I'm sorry Doctor, I couldn't tell you, lest you become influenced by your _own_ emotional interest in that ship, still, now Jones believes you to be a loyal to the East India Company, you've just acquired a new use as mediator,"

"Why do I not like where this is going?" The Doctor sighed.

"I want you to go aboard the _Dutchman_ and deliver several precise instructions…"

* * *

Of all the humiliating tasks Martha had anticipated, this was perhaps the worst. She had been given an object the size of a toothbrush and instructed to clean the pipe organ in the main cabin until it was _"gleaming as though new"_. The organ was so old and covered in sea life that it was virtually impossible to achieve any sort of gleam, especially considering that several bristles were missing from the head of the brush. There was also the matter of the brush being so small that she was only able to work on a square inch of surface at any one time. Martha sighed as she attacked the area around the topmost keyboard, she imagined that it would take several weeks to finish the entire instrument and her wrist was already hurting. She had to scrub lightly for her injury sustained from her fall a few nights ago was still troubling her. Gleaming as though new was _definitely_ not going to happen any time soon. 

In spite of its age, the pipe organ was impressive and the sheer number of keys fascinated Martha. The white keys were stained yellow, presumably caused by years of being underwater whereas any water damage was less obvious on the black keys. Some keys were covered in a thin crust of barnacles, which had been worn away by continuous play. Martha had no idea how she would clean these keys without disturbing the eerie silence in this room and so for now she occupied herself with scrubbing the ornate decorations surrounding the main keyboards. She gritted her teeth and pushed the brush against a dulled gold surface, growling as one stubborn stain refused to budge. Annoyed, she slumped onto the bench behind her and hurled the brush in the general direction of the organ. It ricocheted a couple of times before landing with a light and hollow thud. Immediately afterwards, the air was filled with a gentle melody originating from something that reminded Martha of a jewel box she possessed as a little girl. Whenever she lifted the lid, she would gaze longingly at the ballet dancer twirling against the blue velvet, imagining that she would one-day dance so beautifully. However, she knew that this particular sound was not coming from a jewel box and decided to investigate the resting place of her 'toothbrush'.

Placed upon a small piece of wood, jutting out from the organ like a makeshift shelf, was a heart-shaped object that gave off a metallic flash in the faint light provided by a pathetic smattering of candles. Martha stood and moved closer, raising a curious hand, curling two fingers over the delicate edge of the object and pulling it towards her by the point. Upon closer inspection, she discovered that it was an open locket and numerous miniature gears had caused the gleam as her shadow shifted. She struggled to find a wind-up mechanism and instead rocked the heart slightly. It answered her, playing a few notes of the same melody at a reduced speed before the gears ceased moving again.

Martha withdrew her hand, remembering that she had been told to not touch _anything_ else in the room. She was honestly quite surprised she had been left alone and playing with this music box was perhaps the most instant way of reversing the situation. Actually playing the pipe organ, which was tempting her to revisit childhood piano lessons, was another possibility. Still, she was going to make a noise eventually, the grime attached to the keys appeared to be stuck fast, and that would require scrubbing so hard that she would have to push each key down individually. Her features twisted in anguish as an index finger stretched over the first key on the bottom keyboard. She recoiled before the key had even been half pressed as the note produced a skull-splitting boom. However, Martha was a fast learner and quickly looked for ways to soften the sounds produced. She settled back on the bench and began testing the foot pedals beneath her. She grunted, most of the pedals were stiff or wouldn't move at all. Given how loudly Jones played the organ, she wasn't at all surprised that he had neglected the foot pedals, and the crab-leg probably didn't help matters. Nevertheless, Martha's efforts were eventually rewarded and luckily she had picked the correct pedal for the sound was much quieter. She played a game as she cleaned, pressing down keys in an order that would produce a drawn out rendition of pieces she once knew. She became so lost in the false sense of security provided by the pedal held firmly at her feet that she did not hear the cabin door open…

Jones's uneven footsteps stopped half way across the room, and although Martha had not heard him, a shiver engulfed her entire body. She released the key she was working on and dropped her brush. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, she knew she was being watched but was unprepared for dealing with it. She turned her head, but only enough to see Jones's lower body at the edge of her field of vision. Curiously, he _still_ didn't say anything and that disturbed Martha more than anything he had said to her since she had arrived.

"Come to yell at me some more?" she asked, voice trembling.

"Nay lass…" the reply was surprisingly quiet "would be nae point, yer will's already broken," Jones walked over to the bench and stopped directly behind Martha, who dropped her head so low that her chin was resting against the base of her neck "see, yer already actin' like a terrified wee pup!" Jones scoffed.

"Look, I know it's not done, but really…I've tried my best, so if you're wanting to shout at me, please…get it over with," said Martha, clasping her hands in her lap and bracing herself.

"I'm half-tempted tae discipline ye fer being so presumptuous _Miss Jones_," Jones replied with a hiss "I was merely admirin' yer rather inventive methods," he moved again, this time so he could sit on the bench to Martha's left. Given Jones's large form, it was quite a squeeze and Martha stiffened at the blatant invasion of personal space. Yet she couldn't stop thinking about Bootstrap's advice and knew that endurance was currently her best virtue. "Y'play?" Martha was gob-smacked; he was actually asking her a question about _her_.

"I used to, piano I mean," she stuttered.

"Bah! It's a start, I _suppose_," said Jones, producing a pipe from one of his pockets and using a candle to light it. "Yer free to go whenever y'like Miss Jones, but do nae think I'm goin' easy on ye, you'll be back here at first light to finish the job!" he snapped after a stream of smoke exited the siphon on the side of his face.

"I…well…I mean. Nevermind…" Jones looked expectantly at Martha and she barely managed a smile.

"If y'have something tae say, better say it lass…I'm not above punishing ye for frustratin' me!" Martha didn't reply, she moved her hands up to her face and flattened her palms against her cheeks, fingers splayed over her eyes. For no apparent reason, she began to sob so much that her tears leaked between her fingers leaving watery trails down to her wrists. Jones sighed and clenched his teeth around his pipe. "Women…" he muttered.

"I'm sorry…" said Martha, lifting her head and thoroughly rubbing her eyes.

"Ye'd better be!" spat Jones, sighing again when Martha visibly flinched "and what be troubling ye anyway?" he asked, extinguishing his pipe.

"Why do you care?" Martha asked, her mouth remaining open in shock.

"Well," Jones shifted in a way that suggested he was finding this just as uncomfortable as Martha "way I see things, yer gonna be here fer quite some time, better get used tae each other,"

"The Doctor will save me," Martha replied with a sniff.

"Ha! Yer Doctor's all talk lass, that's how he saved ye last time. I've dealt with men like that, they just make everythin' up as it happens," Jones instantly regretted his taunts when Martha resumed sobbing. _"At least everything's already wet on here"_ he thought.

"I just…miss him I guess," Martha babbled, forgetting to whom she was speaking "and my family, warmth, and a change of clothes, that's why I went in the TARDIS in the first place," she wiped her nose "I bet he's not even missing me, probably havin' the time of his life out there…" Jones's eyes widened, the penny definitely dropping.

"Yer in love with him," he stated, with pained emphasis on the word _love_.

"I don't know, I suppose…maybe, I think. Oh I don't know anymore!" replied Martha, noticing that Jones was no longer looking at her and that a few of his tentacles were roaming over the music-box locket. His expression was one of deep-rooted sadness, a side to him that Martha had believed couldn't possibly exist. She decided to put her next question in as delicate terms as she could manage "are you ok, Captain?" she deliberately used an ambiguous phrase.

"My advice would be tae leave him lass, ye don't want tae let a pretender break yer heart" said Jones, retracting his tentacles from the locket. Martha studied him closely, his eyes were now closed and his features relaxed in a manner that very much conveyed the years of hurt. He was no longer a formidable foe capable of extreme cruelty, but a pathetic shell of his former self, driven to such cruelty by the sting of spurned love. Martha's heart was breaking for him. In a moment of weakness he had allowed her to glimpse the motivation behind his self-mutilation and she could _relate_ to it. She felt compelled to do something and was rather uncertain of her own intentions. Bootstrap had told her to give Jones reason to trust her, yet the conflict in her soul could not be blamed solely on deception. She actually pitied Davy Jones! Without much thought, Martha clasped a hand around Jones's right hand. Jones's eyes snapped open and he gasped in genuine disbelief as Martha squeezed his hand tightly. It was definitely a sympathetic squeeze, for Martha's hand was so relaxed that there was no obvious indication of horror as there had been when Jones hauled her up onto the bow deck. Even Martha was surprised, Jones's hand was still slimy to touch but there was a slight hint of warmth below the surface of his flesh.

Jones finally yielded to Martha's touch, curling his fingers over the top of her hand and wrapping the longer index finger over her wrist. The suckers covering his hand pressed lightly against Martha's skin creating a pinching sensation that was pleasant rather than painful. Jones turned his head towards Martha and stared at her, she shuddered and loosened her grip on his hand.

"Ok, this is getting too weird," she mumbled, untangling her fingers from his and wiping her hand against the sparse bit of bench between their bodies. Jones didn't reply, how could he? He was still reeling from the ounce of sympathy that his newest recruit had just expressed. His only action was the same as it always had been in a time of emotional turmoil, he started to play the pipe organ. His tentacles swooped over each key with every feeling that had consumed his being within the last few minutes. He didn't even care whether or not Martha Jones remained at his side to watch, his only concern was to have an outlet. He hammered the keys with such force that occasionally he would have to suppress a roar. Martha was quite intrigued.

Perhaps it was stupidity or maybe she genuinely wanted to watch Jones play. Either way, Martha stayed silently at his side. Predictably, the music was loud but her mind wandered to the haunting melody of that golden locket, blocking out the much bolder sound of the pipe organ. Her eyelids suddenly felt very heavy and attempted to close of their own accord. Without realising any potential for danger, Martha Jones soon drifted off to sleep.

**Note:** I know, the end of this chapter was a little bit strange but it's all an important part of the general plot!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes: **Sorry for another gap between updates! I'm not getting on my computer much lately, and when I do get on, I'm mostly writing this! Just didn't want anyone to think I'm losing interest, I very much intend to finish this :).Again, thank you to all those who have left reviews or indeed made this story a favourite. Anyway, enough blabbering!

**Chapter Seven:**

The Doctor had worn many faces and exhibited numerous quirks and personal preferences. Yet his ten lives could be linked by one common thread; he was only truly happy when he lived by his own rules. In spite of Beckett's reassurance, the _Endeavour_ was beginning to feel like a cage. The Doctor was constantly checking his behaviour, making sure that he stayed in a character that robbed him of his ability to do what he wanted and convince his "colleagues" that it was what they also wanted. Sneaking around in the middle of the night would be hard to explain, but The Doctor didn't care. It gave him the adrenaline rush he craved and reminded him that he _wasn't_ loyal to the East India Company. He grinned from ear to ear as he tiptoed across the main deck, using moonlight and mast as cover. Finally, he was in his element and playing rivalries against each other. His opponents were clever, he knew that very well, but the information he sought would give him the advantage of foresight. If only he could be sure that this was going to work!

As he descended the stairway into the thankfully unguarded brig, The Doctor felt unusually cold. He didn't believe in divine beings and regardless of everything that had happened to him so far, he still had faith in a rational explanation. However, he could not explain the reason why his hearts were thumping so erratically, as though he had something to fear. His personal mantra for the past few hours was to remind himself that Tia Dalma was _only_ a woman, but her actions on deck earlier had thrown The Doctor's logic into disarray. Worse still, as soon as one boot touched the floor, Tia Dalma looked over her shoulder and gave a blackened grin. She was crouched upon the floor, with her back turned and the single candle allowed angular shadows to fall across her menacing features. She rose up to her full height and turned, swaying her hips as she approached the immaculately polished bars of her prison. Her grin widened and The Doctor swallowed hard.

"_Dokta…"_ she purred.

"I expected you to be expecting someone else…" The Doctor replied, moving closer.

"Not dis time," said Tia Dalma, curling her fingers around the bars. "I know you, Dokta, I know t'ings aboot you dat you don't even know about yoursel', an' I know dat you come for information,"

"Well," said The Doctor, one hand brushing against a single bar that was a comfortable distance away from Tia Dalma "you get right down to business, like so many others in this messed up world of warped mythology…" he trailed off, noticing a predatory look in Tia Dalma's eyes and shuddered.

"An' dat's de problem Dokta," she said, moving her right hand and fluttering her fingers over his knuckles "you t'ink you know it all, an' everyt'ing is wrong. Who are you Dokta, dictatin' to destiny what it can't do?"

"Stories are stories, but they still follow a specific path. Just because this is history now doesn't mean it's right that events are not following…"

"Perhaps it is you dat cause all dis," Tia Dalma interrupted, stroking his fingers and leaning close enough for her nose to brush against The Doctor's cheek. He pulled back from the bars and raised an eyebrow, inviting her to continue. "Your race," she said "you al'ways say you jus' observe, but you…you make yoursel' part of t'ings. An' now, you be dealin' with de consequence,"

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked The Doctor, leaning forward again. Tia Dalma's mouth widened and she exhaled sensuously, reaching through the bars to caress his face.

"Nev'a underestimate sympathy for de devil!" she removed her hand from his face and stepped back from the bars, obviously amused by The Doctor's confusion.

"If you know me, then you'll know that the devil is no longer an issue," he whispered.

"Demons come in many forms," she said dismissively "an' I know your demons, _Dokta_, you nev'a stop runnin', even when der be nobody left. Runnin' an' losin' those who love you. You prepared to lose another?" she gave another hideous grin.

"I'm not going to lose her, I promised!" The Doctor hissed, slamming his hand into the bars and gripping so hard that his knuckles turned white. Tia Dalma chuckled as she returned to a sitting position, thumbing the chain around her neck.

"How much more can her take? Her rules not al'ways followin' yours Dokta. Her goin' to choose differently an' den you realise, sometimes de cruel path lead to de kinder fate," she said, her expression serious and commanding.

"I've no time for cryptic riddles," The Doctor replied, stepping away from the bars with the intention of leaving but something made him come to an abrupt halt. He sucked in a breath as curiosity seized him. "One thing I don't understand, if you are indeed Calypso, you wouldn't let Jack Sparrow transport you here with such ease…unless," he faced her again "there's more than one way to free a goddess," Tia Dalma gave the vilest, widest grin that The Doctor had ever seen, answering his question without the need for words. "But that might not work, I know how you were bound. Death might be final. That's the problem with loopholes," he said quietly "they're not guaranteed to work,"

"An' yet, dey won't be expecting it if it not final!"

"You should still be scared," The Doctor replied with unsettling smile of his own. Tia Dalma looked away from him and her lips curled into a snarl. The Doctor began to climb the steps, satisfied that Tia Dalma's own fear had fuelled her attempts to spook him.

"Dokta!" he turned around and she leapt up, rushing over to the bars. Her tone of voice had completely changed to one of desperation and she was clearly shaking. "Please…" she stretched her arm through the bars, flattening out her palm and offering a small object attached to the chain that had previously been around her neck. "Give dis to him, please" The Doctor arched a brow again and shuffled closer, snatching the object from her hand before returning to the bottom step. It appeared to be a locket, heart-shaped with a face carved into it. "Jus' in case…" she said, bottom lip trembling as she dropped her gaze. The Doctor wordlessly reached out again to stroke his fingers along her palm, reassuring her that he knew exactly what she was asking. Tia Dalma pulled her hand away and skulked towards the back of the cell. The Doctor resumed sneaking, hoping for a swift return to his borrowed room before sunrise.

* * *

In her sleep, Martha fell forward. As her head connected with the keys, the pipe organ let out a thunderous roar that firmly rooted her back in the waking world. She blinked and sat up, feeling a little disorientated. Her neck ached, giving a good indication that she had been in the same slumped position all night. The _Dutchman_ was usually gloomy regardless of the time of day, but stray beams of light were stinging Martha's eyes. She guessed it was morning, and silently cursed the absent Davy Jones for not even having the decency to move her during the night. Perhaps he had suddenly developed a conscience and decided to leave her in peace, but failing to just put her in a more comfortable position was quite insulting.

"Just because he's captain…" she muttered, rubbing her eyes. It was then that she noticed something new draped across the bench next to her. At first she thought it was cloth but as she reached out to grab the unfamiliar object, she discovered it vaguely resembled a dress. The skirt was mostly knee-length and dull brown, slightly tattered at the bottom with odd strips that revealed it was once a much longer dress. The bodice was black and tied at the front, covering the dirty white upper-dress, which ended in short sleeves. Martha frowned, if a worn out second-hand dress was Jones's idea of a peace offering, she had officially found someone with less tact than The Doctor. She flew out of the cabin, dress in hand and sought out Jones, beyond caring that she was probably going to get the flogging of her life for this. She didn't have to go very far, Jones was out on the quarterdeck watching over his crew.

"What's this?" Martha demanded, shaking the dress in Jones's general direction until he _finally_ noticed she was standing beside him. Jones stuck out his bottom lip in a bemused fashion.

"I would've thought that were obvious!" he snorted, accompanied by loud sniggers from any crew who were in earshot.

"Ok, I said a change of clothes would be nice, but this," she shook the dress again "is this supposed to make up for the way you've been speaking to me most of the time and the fact that you tried to _kill_ me!" she hissed. A deep crease appeared across Jones's forehead, and Martha was sure that had he possessed eyebrows they would knitted together in a scowl. He loomed over her, tangling a single tentacle around a strip of seaweed in Martha's hair and giving it a sharp tug.

"In case ye have nae noticed lass," he pulled harder and Martha winced "I'm captain of this ship, I can do what I like, and yer lucky that I decided to treat ye a little better!" Jones let her go and Martha shrank back against the wall, still clutching the dress.

"Am I supposed to be grateful?" she snapped. Jones glared at her and bared his teeth as he took one hard _stomp_ towards her.

"Yer about two syllables away from an actual flogging lass! If I were in yer position, I'd gentle meself down some," he spat, slamming his right hand against the wood next to her. Martha bowed her head and Jones chuckled "not so brave now, are ye? Now, get back tae your chores lass, else I'll satisfy the bos'sun's craving fer some blood!"

"Forgive me Captain," Martha reluctantly hissed through her teeth, slipping under Jones's arm without looking at him. She returned to the cabin and gently closed the door behind her, desperately trying to keep her temper at bay. She wanted to scream but such a racket would probably disadvantage her situation. Instead, she shuffled towards the pipe organ, scraping her heels against the floor and as she was half way across the room she flung the dress towards the bench. It fluttered through the air and fell roughly in its original position, with one sleeve dangling over the edge of the bench. Martha remained rooted to the spot, breathing heavily.

After a moment staring at the offending garment, Martha's attitude began to change. Sure, the dress had been a tasteless peace offering but she was fed up of wearing the same clothes for the best part of a week now. She had also noticed that the dress was surprisingly dry. Her own clothes barely had time to dry out between the times that the _Dutchman_ had been submerged, and even when she did dry off her jeans had a faint damp odour. At least the dress would temporarily remind her what it was like to wear dry clothes. She stepped forward and picked it up, fingering the coarse fabric.

"Not very well made," she said "and it's going to itch like hell. At least I'll fit in with the scenery a bit better…" she draped the dress back over the bench and removed her jacket. She glanced nervously over her shoulder, paranoid that the captain would return at any moment. Satisfied that she was quite safe for now, Martha swiftly removed her top and gathered the dress up in her hands, slipping her upper body through the skirt and smoothing the dress down over her jeans. The bodice was not yet tied properly and so the upper dress was quite loose, but Martha soon rectified that little problem by pulling the cord at the front tightly into a bow. The sleeves would not rest upon her shoulders properly, confirming that the woman who had previously owned this dress was perhaps a little larger than Martha, but at least she could bend down now without exposing herself.

Martha glanced towards the door again and bunched her skirt up at her waist so that she could unzip her jeans. She rolled her eyes once she realised that her boots would need to be removed first and let the skirt fall back down. After her boots landed on the floor beside her with a single thud, Martha repeated her earlier action and began to wriggle out of her jeans. The repeated dampening of the fabric had made a normally simple action quite frustrating. It felt as though the jeans were threatening to peel her flesh from her bones and she struggled to get one leg out, having to do a silly dance to kick her crumpled jeans away. She slipped back into her boots and then crouched down to gather up her modern clothing, checking the pockets in her jeans and gasping as her fingers curled around a cold, rectangular object.

"Oh no!" she wailed, removing her mobile phone in full knowledge that it had been in and out of the sea several times. She turned it over in her palm, her heart sinking as she saw the waterlogged screen. Of course she hadn't expected it to work still, but considering that The Doctor had turned it into a "super phone" she had falsely hoped that it was water resistant. For now, she was truly on her own. "I'm sure he'll be able to fix it. What would I say to my mum anyway? Hi Mum, just ringing to let you know I'm enslaved to a mythical ghost ship but I'm fine really!" said Martha, returning the phone to her jeans pocket. She then tore part of a longer strip from the skirt of the dress and wrapped it around her own clothes before shoving the bundle behind a large freestanding pipe close to the organ. In spite of Jones seeing the sonic screwdriver, he had yet to ask any questions about The Doctor or Martha's origins but Martha wasn't taking any chances. She concealed the phone in the hope that she could retrieve it when The Doctor _finally_ rescued her. She rose to her feet and returned to the pipe organ to resume scrubbing.

"See, that was nae so hard was it?" Jones's voice startled Martha so much that she dropped her brush. She faced him with a disapproving look colouring her eyes. "Do nae worry lass, I only just got here, was nae watching y'dress or nothin'," said Jones.

"I never said you were!" Martha replied, bending her legs underneath her so that she could sit up on the bench.

"Yer expression said enough Miss Jones, yer very easy to read sometimes, ye know that?" asked Jones, walking towards her and stopping a giant stride away from the bench.

"I only did it because I'm cold," said Martha, resting her hands against her thighs.

"Better get used to that lass,"

"I don't need to,"

"Ha!" Jones scoffed, cocking his head "still think yer gettin' outta this? I admire yer determination, and grudgingly yer spirit,"

"Thought you said it was broken?" Martha smiled, adjusting her legs so that she could swing them over the bench and stand. Even from a slight distance Jones dwarfed her, but she felt more comfortable this way.

"Tis," he replied with a wicked grin "but yer still testin' me, I like my crew to fight back some, much more interestin',"

"By that you mean you can punish them!"

"Maybe," he smirked, leaning towards her "but here ye are, still relatively unpunished!"

"I don't understand that," Martha said quietly.

"Y'think that I am cruel, and dishonourable Miss Jones, I can tell, but ye'd be surprised, I still have some morals,"

"Meaning?" Martha arched an inquisitive brow.

"Could've said some cruel things last night lass, but ye did nae do so, one good turn deserves another so yer little indiscretion just now can be ignored. Again," he emphasised the last word with another laugh.

"What if I hadn't backed down?" asked Martha.

"Then ye would be tastin' the cat right now, no doubt about that,"

"You are so bloody schizophrenic Captain," said Martha playfully. "Makes me wonder what she did to you…" Jones's expression harshly changed, his mouth drooped at the corners and he narrowed his eyes. He turned away from Martha with an annoyed snort.

"There be nae need to discuss _that_," he growled.

"Why not?" Jones spun back again and glared at Martha, the flailing of his tentacles suggesting that his temper was about to become critical.

"_Because_ ye be crew, and I owe ye nothin', not fer all the sympathy in the ocean!" snapped Jones.

"But I _do_ sympathise Captain!" Martha replied "I know what it's like, I know what it's like to do everything for someone you love and get very little in return," Jones's expression softened "believe me, I've risked my life so many times…"

"And yet, ye continue to do so!" snapped Jones, the snarl returning.

"Well, I don't see you getting over your broken heart, do you?" Martha replied, knowingly overstepping the mark. Jones stomped so close to Martha that she could feel his short, angry bursts of breath beating against her skin.

"_That_…" he growled "is a comment I refuse to ignore!" and Martha closed her eyes, preparing to be dragged by the hair onto deck and lashed until her back was red raw. Thank heavens for miraculous coincidences; she was saved by a shout outside from Maccus for _"all hands"_ and Jones was soon tearing through the cabin door to investigate. Martha followed, assuming that she was not immune from the call. She stopped behind Jones and waited.

"Mr Maccus, what be the meaning of this?" Jones bellowed. Maccus was next to the main mast, busily sending crewmen off to various duties and ordering several down to the gun deck. He paused and looked toward his captain.

"Sorry sir, but we think there's a ship in the distance, might want to ready for engaging them…"

"Hmm…" Jones walked up to the helm and produced a telescope from his coat pocket. He wrapped the tentacle of his right hand over the top and raised the telescope to his eye, looking through it for a few seconds before returning it to his pocket. Martha had stayed in place and so did not see what transpired at the helm but from the look on Jones's face when he returned to her side, she guessed that the news wasn't good. He gave her a dismissive glance and turned to address his crew.

"Whatever it is, it's a way off…take us down then!"

"You can't!" Martha suddenly piped up, "The Doctor might be on that ship!"

"And if he is…" snarled Jones "he should be doin' his part and retrieving the chest, now kindly follow orders for a change and _be quiet_!" and with that, he stormed back up to the helm.

Martha desperately searched for something to cling onto before the ship was submerged and sighed. As the water began to rush forth, she had just about enough time to contemplate the luxury of ten minutes in dry clothes.

* * *

"How do you know they're here?" The Doctor asked in-between glances out over the starboard side.

"They're here," grunted Mercer, his voice laced with contempt "they were here mere moments ago, this is simply the scum of the earth playing hard to get," he said, looking The Doctor up and down and twisting his lips. He walked away and The Doctor sighed. He _really_ didn't like that man.

"Don't worry Doctor," chirped Norrington, leaning against the railing "they can hide but they can't run, therefore they won't be hiding for very long!"

"Ooh I hate humourless clichés, especially muddled humourless clichés," The Doctor mused to himself

"Pardon?" asked Norrington. The Doctor smiled cheekily.

"Oh nothing, anyway…when's this ship going to surface?"

At that moment there was an explosive rush of water rising up to the levels of a tidal wave. The familiar bowsprit of the _Dutchman_ burst through the surface in an array of foam and spray, splashing water in every compass direction imaginable. As the ship levelled, the wave crashed back down towards the water, showering most _Endeavour_ crewmen as it fell. Magnificent waterfalls poured from every cannon port as the _Dutchman_ turned so that it was parallel with the other ship and The Doctor hurriedly scanned the deck for Martha. He wasn't disappointed; she was not too far away from the main mast, shivering with her arms folded across her chest. She didn't appear to notice The Doctor but he grinned nonetheless.

"Never mind!" The Doctor exclaimed. "Permission to go aboard Admiral?" he asked, resisting the urge to jump around on the spot.

"Permission already granted Doctor!" laughed Norrington "we're readying a rope as we speak!"

* * *

At first, Martha cared very little for this new ship. She had noticed that the men on deck were wearing over-elaborated uniforms that _had_ to be too hot to wear in this climate and assumed that the _Dutchman_ was dealing with a ship full of stuck up eighteenth-century Brits. However, as soon as a rope had been secured to the lip of the main deck railing, Martha realised that the method of boarding was a little too unconventional for a bunch of stuck up Brits. Her heart fluttered and she leaned on her tiptoes with anticipation.

A hand grasped the wood of the _Dutchman_ and was followed by a groan as its owner hauled himself up onto the railing. He briefly balanced upon it with his feet before leaping down onto the deck of the _Dutchman_. Martha's smile dissolved into a frown as she saw that the man was wearing uniform but then he looked up. The new attire may have made him seem unrecognisable but she knew those brown eyes, and she definitely knew that grin!

"Is there a Martha Jones on board by any chance?" The Doctor announced. Martha rushed toward him and threw her arms around him in a bone-crunching embrace. The Doctor gasped in surprise but soon returned the favour, wrapping his arms over Martha's shoulder and squeezing her hard.

"Doctor," she sighed with content against his chest. He loosened his hold upon her and stepped back, leaving his hands on her upper arms.

"Martha Jones," he smiled "blimey…you look," he paused trying to put this delicately "_different_" Martha laughed, tucking one piece of seaweed behind her ear and choosing to ignore the two that had sprung up on the other side of her head.

"And you just look really silly, sorry!" she moved in for another hug, rubbing his back this time. The Doctor pulled back, breaking the embrace. He looked really serious now.

"To business I'm afraid," he whispered, "where is your glorious leader?"

"_He_ is here," said Jones, appearing from who knows where. The Doctor stepped away from Martha and confidently squared up to Jones.

"Ah just the sea devil I wanted to see!" quipped The Doctor "I come bearing gifts,"

"I have nae time fer yer bothersome games _Doctor_!" snapped Jones.

"Oh alright, you want to be no fun as usual…" said The Doctor "Lord Beckett," The Doctor titled his head "wants you to start destroying pirate ships,"

"Out of the question!" spat Jones.

"He has your heart," said The Doctor, one eyebrow raised "that means it is one hundred percent in the question,"

"The heart that ye were supposed to retrieve!"

"And I was going to retrieve, and I still am…but if you want this to work you're going to have to stay calm and play nicely. I'd do as he says for now Jones, really because you're no longer the highest authority in this world. You're officially a pawn Jones, a little soldier in Lord Beckett's quest to rid this world of a plague," The Doctor raised his nose to the air, looking Jones directly in the eyes.

"Will that be all that the _land-lover_ desires?" hissed Jones.

"Nope," The Doctor replied bluntly "you've got to kill the Kraken as well,"

"I will not!"

"You will," said The Doctor "because if you don't," he stood so close that he could whisper into the area where he guessed Jones possessed an ear "he'll destroy the heart. And you'll die," Jones raised his clawed hand in a rage but The Doctor had already leapt backwards, avoiding such a strike.

"Destroying it would require taking my place and therefore my curse. I do nae believe that he would be prepared tae pay such a price!" snapped Jones. The Doctor chuckled.

"I've been aboard that ship," he gestured in the direction of the _Endeavour_ "believe me when I say, he has plenty of candidates lined up who would be prepared to stab your heart. You're about to become extinct Jones…an endangered species. I really would follow orders," Jones snorted and whipped his head from side to side, tormented by the severity of the situation.

"Will that be all?" he asked with another hiss.

"No actually, I'm not quite finished," replied The Doctor "congratulations," he fished in one of his pockets and threw something at Jones. Jones caught the small object in his right hand and coiled his tentacled finger around a chain. He opened the rest of his fingers, exposing a heart-shaped locket resting against his palm. "Your girlfriend is dead," The Doctor teased. Jones's lips quivered as he gazed at the object before crushing it against his palm again. His fiery stare then returned to The Doctor whose smug expression was soon wiped from his face.

"Put this whelp back in the brig where he belongs!" yelled Jones, grabbing The Doctor with his clawed hand and flinging him towards Clanker. Martha ran towards Jones, grabbing one of his arms.

"You can't! He's done nothing wrong, please don't do this!" she pleaded, squeezing Jones's arm. He cruelly tore his arm out of her grip and growled.

"He has nae fulfilled his part of our agreement lass, he stays here!"

"It's alright Martha!" The Doctor yelled, struggling against the attention of Clanker, Hadras and the puffer fish-man named Koleniko. "He's making a mistake Martha, I'll be fine!" Even after several adventures, Martha was still amazed at The Doctor's cheery disposition in the face of adversity. He continued to babble as he was pushed below deck but Martha didn't catch any of what he was shouting, instead she was looking at Jones, the hurt evident.

"He treats ye bad and yer still mourning fer his plight?" Jones asked.

"Sometimes, getting hurt is worth it!" snapped Martha, pushing past Jones and storming back toward the cabin. Jones was rendered speechless but also acquired a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn't quite place it, but he refused to accept that it might possible be jealousy.

**P.S. **Can anyone advise me on a subtle custom line-break that won't get erased by the document manager? I actually don't like this default one very much, it's too chunky/long for my liking, but everything I try disappears!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes: **Sorry this has taken longer than a week! There's a lot of dialogue in this one, so I had to edit the chapter a lot as I didn't want it to end up reading like a script!

**Chater Eight:**

Martha groaned with frustration. She had been working on the same piece of stubborn grime for several minutes and it wasn't any looser. She didn't truly want to go back to her chores, but The Doctor's spectacular failure had left her wanting to be taken away from this. Sadly, that same spectacular failure made her wishes impossible and so she opted to occupy her mind with other things, even if that meant being no better than the maid she had been in 1913. That and several other factors brought her beyond the phase of sorrow and right into a destructive rage. She was quite tempted to give a pipe a massive thump hoping that she would break something.

"Y'don't have tae do this anymore," Davy Jones was standing in the doorway. His silent arrival, probably due to the fact that he hadn't moved any further, caused Martha to jump and she slammed her brush down onto one of the keyboards. With a heavy sigh, she turned around, raising her eyebrows.

"Psychologists would have a field day!" she muttered, Jones merely looked confused at her remark. "Why?"

"Do nae ask lass! Just think yerself fortunate. Now go and report tae Maccus and make yerself useful on deck!" snapped Jones, his gaze constantly shifting from Martha to the floor. He was trying to appear his usual, controlling self but his fidgeting betrayed him, something was bothering him.

"Are you goin' to do what The Doctor asked?" said Martha, guessing that his newly acquire nervous disposition had to be related to his heart.

"Does it look like it?" Jones spat "no man would be willin' tae take my place, ye can nae step on land fer ten years, and even then…it's an eternal purpose," he said, the fingers on his hand closing around the locket that still rested against his palm.

"What happens after ten years?"

Jones's lip twitched, his temper fraying, but he squeezed the locket hard and tried to calm himself. "Nothing," he said in a low hiss "nothing…because wo…people can nae be trusted,"

"Psychologists field day," Martha half-whispered. Jones gave a curious nod and stared at her. "What?" she asked.

"The things that come out of yer mouth, like nothin' I've ever heard before, and The Doctor…even worse,"

"You should see it from my angle. Cos this situation's really alien, it's like nothing _I_ have ever _seen_, I keep thinkin' I'm in a dream, and any minute I'm goin' to wake up," she sighed, curling her fingers around the edge of the bench "I just can't believe any of this really happened, is happening,"

"Yer confusing me again Martha Jones, 'cos with talk like that, I still can't fathom where yer from!"

Martha grinned and rose up from the bench to walk over to Jones. He backed away slightly, observing her with curious suspicion when she placed one hand over the tattered fabric covering his right arm. "It's ok," said Martha, pulling his arm gently in the direction of the deck outside.

It was quiet, the _Endeavour_ had distanced itself from the _Dutchman_ and as yet there was no evidence that the East India Company had sent anyone else over. The crew appeared too busy to acknowledge Martha's reappearance but she still quickly looked around, not wanting to burden them with ideas beyond their own knowledge. Her hand fell away from Jones's arm, and she gestured to the sky. The sun was at a punishing strength and so Jones squinted as he craned his neck "I'm from here," said Martha, Jones blinked a couple of times and returned his gaze back to a more comfortable level.

"The heavens?" he asked, his mouth remaining open in surprise.

"No!" laughed Martha "I meant _here_, Earth, I'm from Earth!" she stopped as she noticed Koleniko was staring, but one harsh glance from the captain was enough to solve that problem. It actually shocked her that Jones had noticed her discomfort and for the second time, Martha was thanking him.

"Nae bother," replied Jones "you wanted to continue,"

"The Doctor and me, we're travellers. But you know that blue box? It can take you anywhere, anywhere in time and space, the heavens. I'm from your future,"

"The future?" gasped Jones.

"Yes! The Doctor would kill me for telling you all this…"

"He had better not!"

"Not literally!" said Martha, playfully rolling her eyes "I meant, I'm not supposed to tell people, there's laws," she paused again, noticing that Jones's fingers were stroking the locket "I'm sorry, I can't change what's happened to you, that's definitely not allowed, something about the universe fracturing…"

"I would nae ask that of ye Martha Jones," he replied, slipping the locket inside his coat. Martha simply smiled, taking a breath as though she were about to speak but a crash from elsewhere on deck soon interrupted her. Both Jones and Martha turned their heads sharply to see Maccus running towards them, obviously panic-stricken.

"Cap'n! P…p…people!" yelled Maccus as a line of crewmen formed behind him but that too fell into a state of disorder as Clanker crumpled to the deck, stabbed from behind by a man with a stern expression. More men followed, dressed in uniform and pushing the _Dutchman's_ crew out of their way. A shorter man emerged in the middle of the group, clasped his hands behind his back and smugly looked towards Jones. Hadras and Koleniko stooped down to pull Clanker back to his feet, but the first man pushed Hadras roughly in the chest, knocking his head off in the process.

"You'll keep back!" the man growled.

"That'll be all Mr Mercer, I think you made your point," said the man at the centre.

"Beckett…" Jones spat.

"We've been through this, is that any way to address your commanding officer Jones?" Beckett sneered, "although, following the chain of command appears to be a problem for you, doesn't it?"

"And we've been through _this_. Nae man can command me, I am captain of this ship and the ship does as its captain commands!"

"And the captain will _finally_ do as commanded! Really Jones, were my first six warnings not enough?" said Beckett. Jones thudded over to him and Martha quietly followed behind, attempting to step out as Jones stopped walking. Jones reached back with his right hand and pushed Martha into his shadow and she folded her arms with a sigh, staying put.

"Y'don't have the means _Lord_ Beckett, nae man will take my curse, ye may have the chest but ye can't intimidate me into obedience!" hissed Jones.

"Can't I?" Beckett replied, coolly lifting a hand and clicking his fingers. A third man in the most elaborate uniform of all pushed forward through the crowd, holding the lid a small chest partially open. At the same time Mercer grabbed the arm of the nearest lieutenant, forcing a knife into his hand. The lieutenant whimpered as Admiral Norrington flipped the lid of the chest completely open. Mercer yanked the lieutenant's arm hard and dangled it over the chest, the knife pointing downward. "Much like your victims, the perpetrator doesn't have to be willing," said Beckett triumphantly.

"You can't make either of them do anything!" Martha blurted, now standing next to Jones. Beckett's expression remained unchanged but his eyes flashed with amusement. "First, that's murder, and second that's forcing someone else to murder, and third…that's bribery!"

"A woman on the _Dutchman_! And she's still alive, how quaint!" Beckett goaded, "wouldn't it be poetic irony if she were the one to stab the heart?"

"Ye'll leave her out of this!" snapped Jones.

"And he's defending her! Oh this is too much Jones, was it not a, now regrettably deceased woman that ultimately led you into this predicament in the first place?" asked Beckett. Jones growled and lurched towards him but Mercer moved the lieutenant's hand even deeper into the chest and Jones backed off. The threat seemed very real, but Martha still had her doubts. As a rational, educated person, she couldn't believe that a living being could really survive without its heart. She made small steps forward, rising up onto her tiptoes to peer into the chest. "Come to see for yourself?" Beckett teased.

As a trainee doctor, Martha was not squeamish, but she still gagged at the sight before her. At the bottom of the chest, which was stained dark red with old blood, lay a still-beating heart. It was a fresh pink and apart from being covered in barnacles and traces of fat, it appeared to be healthy. "That's, that's not possible!" stuttered Martha. She stepped back, looking Jones in the eye before reaching out, intending to touch his chest. He lightly grabbed her hand with his claw and pushed her away, shaking his head.

"You'll do as I say Jones," said Beckett, signalling to Norrington who then closed the chest. "Kill your pet, attack anything remotely related to piracy and don't even think about questioning me again, and just to make sure you fulfil all three requirements, Admiral Norrington and Mr Mercer will remain on your ship as your superiors!"

"What?" both men protested.

"Really sir, I don't think that's necessary," said Mercer.

"Lord Beckett, is there really any need for the both of us to remain here?" Norrington whined.

"Oh come now, you're in charge of the most famous ship that ever sailed, think of it as a reward gentlemen, and with two of you on board Jones can't overwhelm one without the other destroying the heart," replied Beckett.

"I suppose ye'll be wanting yer wee puppet back too?" asked Jones.

"Who? The Doctor? Keep him for all I care, his usefulness just expired," said Beckett, pointing his men in the direction of the bow and turning to make his exit.

"You can't just leave him! He's on your side," Martha screamed, leaping over to Beckett and pulling on his shoulder. Beckett broke free of her grip and looked at her in disgust, brushing his shoulder with a sneer.

"He was never on my side Miss Jones, I knew from the beginning he was trying to play me for a fool. Luckily I was blessed with superior intelligence!"

"That's what you think, because he's clever than you!" snapped Martha "and hang on, how did you know my name?"

Beckett smirked "Obviously not clever enough, he told me everything, now if you'll excuse me," he turned up his nose and walked away, followed by his entourage. Mercer attempted his own escape and gave several reasons why he should remain on the _Endeavour_, but his protests obviously fell on deaf ears. Norrington on the other hand didn't move.

"You know this is wrong!" yelled Martha, snapping Norrington out of his trance, she looked directly at him and repeated the same phrase in a whisper. Norrington seemingly ignored Martha and brushed past her, making his way to the helm. Martha's attention returned to Jones, who had adopted a defeatist stance. He was staring at the deck, his tentacles twisting themselves in knots. "I have to go speak to The Doctor," Martha said quietly.

"Huh?" Jones too had been daydreaming "please yerself lass," he said, lifting his head. Martha smiled and skipped over towards the trapdoor that led to the brig, a plan already forming in her mind. "Word of warning Miss Jones…"

Martha's skipping abruptly ceased "a warning?" she asked. Jones looked over to her with no trace of friendship left in his expression.

"Ye let him out, and y'can go back in there with him. Yer loyalty is tae this ship girl, don't forget that," Jones replied. Martha gave an obedient nod and disappeared below deck.

-0-0-0-

The Doctor was bored, which did not bode well given his so far relatively brief second tenure in the _Dutchman's_ brig. He had decided to amuse himself by counting to a thousand in as many languages as he were able. However, he was a fast counter and had already exhausted English and French. He was half way through Cydonian the moment that Martha over-enthusiastically jumped off the ladder from above. The Doctor immediately leapt to his feet and threw himself at the bars of the brig.

"Oh thank goodness! Martha, you have to let me out of here," he said with an expectant grin. Martha didn't even look at him, she plodded over to the bars with her shoulders hunched and sighed. The Doctor gripped the bars, and his grin quickly transformed into a frown. "I assume things aren't going too well up there…" he whispered and Martha finally looked up, her eyes darkened by an emotion The Doctor couldn't quite place.

"I can't let you out," she said, her voice hollow and cold.

"Oh come on! Where's that sense of reckless disregard for the rules? You let me out…I get to the TARDIS, I find out what's going on around here, get the heart along the way and then I free you, it's a brilliant plan!" The Doctor enthused.

"I _can't_ Doctor," hissed Martha.

"Can't or won't?" asked The Doctor, feeling wounded. Martha scowled at him.

"_Can't_, I'm bound to the ship. In case you haven't noticed, I mean look at me!" said Martha, gesturing to her hair "what's happening to me Doctor? How is this even possible?"

"Lean closer," The Doctor instructed, poking one hand through the bars. He took hold of Martha's chin between his index finger and thumb, moving her head from side to side as he made a thoughtful sound. "Open wide," he said and Martha opened her mouth, huffing slightly. "Blimey! When did you last brush your teeth?"

Martha pulled her mouth away from The Doctor's fingers and scowled again "excuse me for not packing my toothbrush, and I don't think they have a chemist on the bloody _Flying Dutchman_, I forgot to check!" she snapped.

"Oh all right, you made your point," said The Doctor, squinting in the gloom as he attempted to look at Martha's eyes.

"What could possibly be in my eye or my mouth that explains this?"

"I'm not sure, just checking for signs of non-humanity I suppose," The Doctor mused, prompting Martha to point at her hair with an expression that conveyed the message _"are you blind?"_ quite well. "Yes I know, the hair…as far as I can tell it's some sort of mutation but your real hair is still in there somewhere," he drew back from the bars slightly and ruffled his own hair as he sucked in a breath "did you eat or drink anything unusual?"

"I've been drinking rum,"

"Hmm, it could be genetic manipulation brought on by consumption of a cocktail of sorts, disguised as rum. Maybe the mutation is directly proportional to how much rum you drink,"

"Except for there's this small, boy I guess, called Penrod, and he's teetotal," sighed Martha. "Admit it, you've got no scientific explanation for any of this, just admit it Doctor, this is way over even _your_ head,"

"There's a rational explanation for everything Martha," said The Doctor, very offended.

"Not here," replied Martha, shaking her head "I've seen things I know can't be possible, but they are, I've seen the heart. I've seen some pretty awful things in hospital but that…it was still beating. They were going to kill him, they were going to stab the heart and kill Captain Jones right in front of me," she looked away and covered her hand over her mouth, trying to suppress another gag at the memory. The Doctor touched the bars again, now quite intrigued.

"Oh Martha…" he sighed, "of all the times to come down with Stockholm Syndrome!"

Martha glared at him and bit down on her bottom lip "what? Are you jealous? He just listens to me sometimes that's all! Maybe if you did the same, I wouldn't have been driven into feeling the way I do!" she snapped, reaching for the bars and holding on tightly.

"How do you feel?" The Doctor asked quietly.

"Like…" Martha's features softened and she dropped her head "like I don't want him to die. I look at him and I think, _I've been there_, I've felt like I know it couldn't get much worse. He's a horrible person but he's still _human_, well, sort of. Does he really deserve to die?"

"Nobody deserves to die," said The Doctor, gently prising one of Martha's hands away from the bars and squeezing it.

"Tell me he's not going to die," Martha pleaded.

"I can't promise, as far as I was concerned this was an Earth myth, I have no idea how the reality is going to turn out," he released Martha's hand and curled a finger under her chin, lifting her head up. They shared a weak smile and Martha began to walk away.

"What if I let you out and we both got to the TARDIS?" she asked as she paused half way.

"Might not work," replied The Doctor "you took an oath, and you've already seen the sheer power of words in this universe. The TARDIS might not be able to leave with you on board,"

"Might not or are you making it up again?"

"Martha, be fair! I _am_ trying!" snapped The Doctor.

"I'm sorry Doctor, but it's like you don't really trust me anymore, you've done nothing but look at me suspiciously ever since I came down here!" Martha yelled "and it _hurts_,"

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I trust you! I'm just worried that you're getting in too deep, I do actually worry about you, even more so since," he gulped "the family,"

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Martha, stomping back over to the bars, The Doctor didn't reply. "Is that what this is about? If I wanted to get back at you for Joan, don't you think I'd pick someone a little more…" she hesitated "_conventional_?"

"Martha, please! Just be careful, do that for me. You're stating to sympathise and…oh I'm _such_ an idiot!"

"Took the words right out of my mouth," scoffed Martha.

"No, no, I mean, sympathy. Somebody warned me this would happen, but I assumed it was nonsense. Please…" The Doctor pleaded, "just be careful, I don't want you to face any difficult choices,"

"I think I can handle it Doctor, because while you've been playing dress up and sitting around drinking tea, a lot has happened on here!" Martha hissed, sharply turning around.

"Well what am I supposed to do while you're busy handling yourself?"

"I don't know, talk to Bootstrap," Martha replied, climbing the ladder "good luck though, he says five sentences and then goes back to sleep!" As Martha disappeared into the shadows above, The Doctor sighed and slumped back down onto the floor. It was clearly going to be a long day.

-0-0-0-

By midnight, The Doctor had reached five hundred languages and so willed his body into a light sleep. Mere minutes after his eyelids had closed, he was jolted back into complete consciousness as a faint jangling of keys interrupted the stillness of the night. He grinned and lay down, not wanting Martha to think he had sat up all night waiting for her to change her mind. However, the pair of boots that entered the cell did not belong to Martha, and The Doctor was momentarily confused as to why a member of the Company was on the _Dutchman_. The Doctor sat up and strained his eyes.

"Admiral Norrington!" he exclaimed as he stood, Norrington's first reaction was to place a finger against his own lips "oh, sorry!" whispered The Doctor. Norrington was holding a bundle, and thrust it into The Doctor's arms. The Doctor almost burst with glee when he recognised his much more favoured clothing. "Oh my shoes, my coat!" he said quietly.

"I thought you might be needing everything back," chuckled Norrington. "Now, come quickly, I'm not certain that the night watchman didn't see me," he said, motioning for The Doctor to come through the open grating. As The Doctor stepped out, Norrington slid the grate quietly back into place and locked it "don't want Bootstrap getting out and raising the alarm now, do we?"

"I'm not completely sure I understand what's going on here, but I'd guess I wasn't left here by accident?" The Doctor asked as he followed Norrington up the ladder.

"No you weren't, but that's not important, there's no time to explain," said Norrington, holding a hand in front of The Doctor's face to still him. "Just checking the coast is clear, right, let's get you to that blue box of yours!"

"How do you know about that?" The Doctor enquired, tip-toeing across the main deck behind the admiral. Norrington, with a smile highlighted by the faint moonlight, faced The Doctor.

"Martha Jones," whispered Norrington "we had a conversation not long after she visited you," he said, sneaking down into the cargo hold. He gasped with wonder as the TARDIS appeared in his line of vision; he then extended his arm, inviting The Doctor to continue. "Do what you have to do Doctor, I'll keep watch,"

"I knew Martha wouldn't just leave me!" The Doctor beamed "but I still don't understand your part in this,"

Norrington dropped his head and inhaled deeply, he then gazed at The Doctor, a pained expression on his face. "Someone I love dearly will be affected by all this," said Norrington "and Martha has such faith in you, I only wish that my…friend would have that sort of faith in me. I'm doing the right thing Doctor, I want you to help them,"

"I'll try my best," The Doctor replied.

"Go! Quickly!" hissed Norrington, giving a courteous nod that The Doctor returned. The Doctor ran, rooting around in his bundle for the TARDIS key. He flung the doors open and threw his clothes over the nearest structure, rushing over to the console and flicking a few switches. The TARDIS hummed as it was aroused from its long slumber and everything was instantly illuminated.

"You can come along if you like Admiral!" The Doctor cheerily called out of the open doors. No answer followed. "Admiral?" The Doctor felt a chill as he walked slowly towards the threshold. A lump formed in his throat as soon as he stepped back onto the ship. Norrington was being held around the throat with a gun pointed at his head…by Mercer.

"Hello again _Doctor_," he sneered, "shame about the Admiral here isn't it?" his tone was almost _cheerful_, verging on sadistic.

"Mercer, put the gun down," said The Doctor, his hand gesturing towards the floor.

"You know," replied Mercer, ignoring the request "I think this counts as treachery even for you, you did pledge your allegiance after all,"

"Just put the gun down!" demanded The Doctor "this is a needless murder!"

Mercer laughed "surely you've been in my company long enough to realise that I'm not concerned with morals!"

"Don't do it Mercer!" The Doctor implored, staring helplessly at Norrington. Something stirred in the admiral during that exchange of piteous looks, he was overcome with determination, and in a flash he was in a much more commanding position. After The Doctor's pleas, Norrington had elbowed Mercer in the stomach. While Mercer was on the ground, the admiral kicked the gun away and gave Mercer's stomach a kick for good measure. However, Mercer proved to be stronger than he appeared, he was soon back on his feet, attempting to punch Norrington in the face.

"Doctor, go!" Norrington yelled, twisting Mercer's arm behind his back so that he fell to his knees.

"James…" The Doctor said softly.

"Just go!" Norrington demanded, groaning as Mercer partially freed his hand and grabbed Norrington's wrist. The Doctor reluctantly obeyed, leaping back into the TARDIS and slamming the doors shut. He rested his head against the cold surface, momentarily pondering the possibility that another death was about to rest on his conscience.


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry about the long gap between this chapter and the last. I suffered a minor case of writers' block and didn't want to upload something of minimal quality. The more I flesh this story out, the more I'm finding that using elements of the third POTC film can work. I guess it just proves once again that The Doctor's presence anywhere messes up what is actually supposed to happen ;).

**Chapter nine:**

Moments after her conversation with Admiral Norrington, Martha had gone below for a much needed rest. She had been charged with the morning watch, meaning that she would have to drag herself off her hammock earlier than she had become accustomed. Sleep didn't come easily, and she found that staring up at the damp wood above her used up less energy than actually trying to leave the waking world. It wasn't as though her lack of sleep mattered much; this was a time where it was difficult to measure the hours at sea. In fact, Martha didn't know whether or not hours even existed. She concluded that in the modern world, she only felt tired because she knew how much sleep she had missed. If that was the case, why was she still yawning?

Her eyelids were heavy and had begun to close of their own accord. The sound of water lapping against the ship and the snores of her fellow crew grew weaker. As Martha's hand slowly slipped from her chest, everything faded to black.

Suddenly Martha was standing up, a cool breeze caressing her neck and blowing her loose hair behind her shoulders. She was confused; the sand against her now bare feet appeared to be extremely real. She flinched as a chilly sensation licked at her feet. Martha looked down as the water retreated. She looked to her left and realised that she was standing on a beach and that the vast expanse of water next to her was the sea. In the distance, she spotted a ship that looked suspiciously like the _Dutchman_; except for it was more _human_, without a trace of marine life upon it.

She walked away from the shoreline and followed to beach around to her right. This island appeared to be deserted. There was nothing but trees stretching on for miles and the single indication that man had once occupied this land was a ruin. Martha continued her journey at a leisurely pace, savouring the sensation of being on solid ground, not caring that this was probably a dream. The sun was setting, colouring the sky with brilliant oranges and yellows. This was also reflected in the clear waters surrounding the island and Martha felt strangely peaceful. She was glad that the island was deserted; it didn't deserve to be spoiled. However, she quickly learned that she was not alone. Her weight sank against the sand in advance of her footsteps and upon closer inspection she noticed a boot print surrounding and dwarfing her foot.

Martha looked up and her gaze followed the boot prints off into the distance. There was a figure ahead, a silhouette against the setting sun. "How?" Martha muttered before glancing back toward the sea and answering her own question. A small boat had been pulled up onto the sand and from it a trail of those same boot prints originated. Martha's attention returned to distance. The silhouette had not become any smaller, suggesting that the figure was no longer moving. Without thinking, Martha bunched up her skirt so that it was completely above her knee and ran.

"Hey!" she called once she was a little nearer to the figure. "Hey! Hey, are you ok?" she asked, almost upon the figure now. "Are you lost?" still no answer. As she suspected, the figure was a man but curiously he was kneeling, his shoulders hunched as though he was looking at something. He was wearing a large hat, from under which long greying hair fanned out over his back. His lower legs stretched out behind, partially covered by his dark crimson frockcoat. From her limited understanding of old nautical dress, Martha guessed that this man was a captain.

The man refused to answer her calls and Martha grew increasingly agitated. She wandered around so that she was in front of him and crouched down. "You're being really rude you know!" she remarked. The man continued to ignore her presence, his blue eyes were fixed ahead but it was as though he was staring right through Martha's body.

Between Martha and the stranger was an assortment of objects. There was a large chest, a bunch of flowers, several letters and a knife. There was also no logic to the arrangement, at least not until Martha noticed a much smaller chest sitting directly in front of the man. She instantly recognised the Dead Man's Chest and gasped. "It can't be…" she whispered. She looked at the man again. He was gazing out to sea now, which provided Martha with a good view of his profile. He was clearly middle aged, for his face was lined around the eyes and his blonde beard greying like his hair. However, it was the high cheekbones that confirmed matters and the braids in his beard, arranged in a way that reminded Martha of tentacles. There was no doubt in her mind that she was observing Davy Jones in his uncorrupted form.

"Breaks da heart, don't it?" a female voice, the accent alien and somewhat unsettling. Martha froze, there was no evidence of a _third_ presence on the island and the human Davy Jones continued to be oblivious. Martha shuddered and looked to the right. The owner of the voice was standing next to her, a dark skinned beauty with a chilling grin across her face. "An' de heart is what dis be aboot,"

"About what? Who are you?" Martha asked nervously.

"You would not understand chi'le, for you I am a ghost, dat is de simple explanation," the woman replied.

"What about him?" Martha enquired, pointing at Davy Jones. He closed his eyes and a single tear rolled down his left cheek. "Is he a ghost too?" asked Martha.

The woman shook her head "him but a shadow, a reflection of what al'ready has come to pass," she moved closer, reaching out to stroke two fingers down Martha's cheek and under her chin. Martha gasped as another chill claimed her spine. "Can you see chi'le, de pain? Do you t'ink dat a compassionate ear can change all dis?"

"She wasn't there," Jones whispered, his eyes fixed upon the now open Dead Man's Chest. He was a shadow, a mere replay of the past; his address had been to nobody but himself.

"Who wasn't there?" Martha demanded but the woman simply chuckled. "What are you trying to show me?"

"You'll see…" the reply was ominous and Martha had to look away. The expression on Jones's face had changed from hurt to an anger of which Martha was all too familiar. He sat up straight and threw his coat off his shoulders. He then ripped his shirt open and grasped the knife in his right hand, breathing heavily as he positioned the blade over his heart. Martha's eyes widened as she realised what was happening, and she suddenly felt violently ill.

"Stop this!" she cried, looking back toward the woman. She had disappeared and Martha clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. "Stop this now! I don't want to see this!" she yelled through her fingers. In a panic, Martha turned away from Jones and ran. She ran so hard that her legs ached and her heart pounded relentlessly against her rib cage. She slowed down to a light jog once she was satisfied that she had covered enough distance, but her relief was short lived. In front of her was the exact same scene, Davy Jones kneeling in front of the chest with a blade over his heart. "You've got to be kidding me!" Martha groaned.

Certain that she was in a nightmare, Martha willed her body to wake up as she ran back in the opposite direction. She didn't wake up and she encountered the same problem, she was running towards Jones again. She admitted defeat and walked slowly towards Jones. It was impossible to look away, inside her mind Martha was screaming that she didn't need to see this but for some unexplained reason she could not turn her head nor close her eyes. "Let me wake up," she pleaded, her lip trembling "please let me wake up,"

As a child Martha had experienced some extremely awful nightmares, but she always knew that they were not really happening. What she witnessed now made childhood fears seem tame and the sting of knowing that it was a real event worsened her trauma. With an almighty roar, Jones plunged the blade into his chest, a trickle of dark liquid instantly oozing over his knuckles. At the exact same moment, the sky appeared to be bleeding too and a deep red reflection crept across the clear seawater.

Jones doubled over in pain as a lighting strike ripped through the bloody clouds but he pushed the blade in further, red spit covering his lips as he groaned. Martha had always lacked a squeamish disposition around blood and torn flesh. Had this been a dissection, Martha wouldn't even flinch, but this was a man purposefully mutilating his body. The emotional anguish that had driven him to it was just as unbearable as the physical pain he was enduring. Martha wanted to cry, but even that function appeared beyond her control now.

Blood was streaming from Jones's wound, staining his shirt and the sand around his knees. He was shaking as he pulled the knife out of his chest and Martha hoped that the mysterious woman had made her point. Her hope was in vain, she screamed as Jones pushed the fingers of his left hand into his chest, lifting the knife again to finish the deed. "You see," the woman had returned, standing at Martha's side again. "If dis is what him do de first time him believe him misled…" there was a sinister pause as the woman leaned closer to Martha's ear "imagine what him do to you…"

After an ear-splitting thunderclap, Martha's awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in her hammock. It swung from side to side, threatening to throw her off onto the deck but she steadied herself, patting her chest at the same time. Maccus was standing to her left, his lip curled in curiosity. "Everything ok Martha?"

"Yeah," Martha blinked rapidly "sorry Mr Maccus, bad dream, that's all," she said, her heartbeat steadying.

"Anythin' ye need to talk about?"

"Yes, but I think I'd better talk about it with Captain Jones," replied Martha, sliding off the hammock and onto the floor.

"Sure ye want to do that? I know he's starting to trust ye, aye, but he still isn't a very patient man, y'tryin' him some," Maccus almost sounded concerned. Martha was quite amused.

"He's goin' to want to hear this…trust me," said Martha, walking over to the hatch up to the main deck.

"Just remember, when you're done, that ye still be on mornin' watch!" Maccus called after her.

-0-0-0-

"Behave!" snapped The Doctor as he wielded a mallet against his troublesome console. "I know, I'm attempting to access real information that is actually filed under Earth mythology, I know I'm trying to travel within the same time period thus carrying a risk of intercepting my own time line! When has that ever stopped you?" he mused, pulling on the console monitor and inputting some more data. He had left the TARDIS in flight mode while hurriedly changing back into his normal attire but landing was proving to be more of a problem than he had anticipated. The TARDIS was blocking any attempts at landing in a new location on the date that The Doctor has just left.

"Well, you might be refusing to acknowledge that it _isn't_ mythology, but at least you've given me some dates, albeit estimates," The Doctor sighed, quickly reading the extensive information trawling across the screen. "They met anyway! That's…unexpected," He set the co-ordinates and leapt backwards, rooting around in an open toolbox that was resting upon the control room chair. "Aha!" he exclaimed, pulling out a familiar pen-shaped object. He grinned and squeezed the new sonic screwdriver tightly in his hand. He wanted to prolong the moment, "I've not gone so long without you for at least half a dozen lives, or is it five?" he mused, "I was right to always have a spare handy," he said as he pocketed the new model.

The console beeped as some new writing flashed up on the monitor. The Doctor grasped the sides of the screen in both hands and cocked a curious eyebrow; grinning again once it was obvious the news was good news. The TARDIS had given in and allowed him to land. "Good girl!" he called, patting the console, which hummed in appreciation of his touch. "I'm travelling forward one day, after that I'll travel forward another day, it's so simple, ha! Absolutely no risk of running into myself," he paused to smooth the lapels of his coat "although, me being the only one left theoretically makes me the rule-maker, I could do what I like…but that would be a little bit naughty of me," he grinned "wouldn't it old girl?"

The Doctor inhaled deeply, bracing himself for a new and possibly difficult situation. The TARDIS landed and he lightly skipped over to the door, his coat tails spreading out behind him. No matter what happened, he had a sonic screwdriver and was no longer dressed like a member of the Royal Navy. In a time where small mercies were so far hard to come by, The Doctor was temporarily in a better mood.

Davy Jones was at the helm and Martha spotted him as soon as she stepped onto the main deck. His hat created a silhouette that was too distinct to cause a case of mistaken identity. From a distance Martha couldn't see his face, and it was as though a long-horned demon was steering the ship. The illusion was only ruined once he lifted his right hand from the wheel and lit his pipe. He seemed to be in a peaceful mood but Martha still had to take a deep breath and relax before she climbed the steps up to the helm. Jones was definitely in a world of his own, he didn't notice Martha until she was at his side.

"Didn't think the captain steered the ship," Martha remarked. There was an awkward pause as Jones used a single tentacle to place the pipe in his mouth and returned his hand to the wheel. He sighed and faced away from Martha, ensuring that no smoke was blown in her face. "That's bad for you, you know," she said in a playful tone.

"Not exactly captain at the moment lass," Jones replied, "and yer forgettin' that I cannae die, though I never knew of a pipe managin' tae kill a man," he sighed again.

"Still, you can order us around surely? I didn't swear an oath to Captain Fancy Dress and his miserable northern friend," Jones didn't answer, he simply stared ahead, turning the wheel slightly. "Why are you up here?"

"Cannae sleep lass, got Company men in officers quarters, reckon they've got their beady eyes on my cabin next. Do nae think yer safe either, that one and only hammock will have some red or blue coated sea dog in it soon enough," said Jones with a brief smile. He extinguishing the pipe on his clawed hand, putting the pipe back in his pocket.

"No wonder Maccus was down with the crew, and not playing cards or that dice game either,"

"Aye, he's none too happy," replied Jones "and to what do I owe this pleasure Miss Jones? Havin' another rare moment of not hatin' me?"

"Can't sleep either. And…" Martha bit her lip, unsure how to broach the subject, "I had a dream,"

"Ha! Everyone dreams lass, nothin' special about that," laughed Jones.

"It was about you!" snapped Martha. Jones glared at her, sporting a look that was a cross between confusion and perhaps absolute horror. "Well, that came out wrong," said Martha, Jones's expression intensified "I mean you were in it, that's all, I'm not hitting on you or anything,"

"I do nae understand what ye just said,"

"Oh god, how do I explain? It's an expression from my time. I suppose it means, buttering you up? Trying to get on your good side? Getting a bit too friendly?" replied Martha, cringing.

"Hmm, I'll take yer word fer it lass, yer feelin' awkward, y'don't have tae explain it," said Jones, smiling again at Martha's relieved sigh.

Martha decided that it was best to launch into a description of the dream, seeking permission was so trivial when it was involved a matter that she had already witnessed. Jones would have no choice but to satisfy her curiosity. "You were human," sighed Martha, dropping her gaze "and I saw what you did to yourself,"

"Powerful imagination ye have Miss Jones," replied Jones dismissively.

"No, no I saw it as it happened Captain. It was like being tortured, in fact I'm certain that's what she was trying to do to me," said Martha, the tremble in her voice becoming more obvious.

"_She_?" hissed Jones.

"A woman, standing next to me in the dream, she didn't tell me her name. She only told me why she was showing your…self-injury," Martha winced at her choice of words "sorry Captain, I didn't know how else to put it,"

"And why was she showing you?" he demanded. Martha clasped her hands together and closed her eyes, wishing that there was a better way to answer his question but honesty was the only option.

"Because, originally I was pretending to be your," she gulped "…friend and she said that if that was how you reacted to one deception, imagine what you'd do to me,"

"Ye picked the wrong man tae deceive lass," Jones replied angrily, violently turning his head away from her. "You have _nae_ idea what yer dealin' with, if y'think that a little pretend kindness will get ye off this ship…"

"I am _not_ pretending!" yelled Martha "everythin' I've said to you has been genuine, I thought I'd have to pretend but the more I talked to you, the more I realised that I couldn't pretend. I said I sympathise Captain, and if you don't believe me that's your problem,"

"I do nae _need_ sympathy!" hissed Jones, facing her again with a glare.

"Fine! You don't," replied Martha, holding up her hands. "But at least believe me when I say I do want to help you, I want you to get the heart back, and some creepy witch in a dream isn't going to change that,"

"Did ye say witch?" asked Jones, his expression somewhat pained.

"I thought she must be, she was quite, eccentric, and had a strange accent,"

"Hmm," Jones took one hand away from the wheel and leaned back "take this," he ordered. "We're goin' straight ahead lass, isn't hard!" he growled when he noticed Martha's reluctance. She obeyed, hesitantly gripping two spokes in her hands. Jones stomped over to a corner of the deck and gave something a swift kick. There was a groan as the hulk of a crewman rose up, a hand reaching out for balance on the railing. "Y'had nae need fer sleep fer nigh on twenty five years, get that idle carcass back to yer post!" said Jones. Following orders, Greenbeard walked over to the helm and snarled at Martha, who gladly gave up her position.

Jones was at the final set of railings now, standing with his back to the bow and looking out to sea. Martha waited in silence. "I'm not goin' tae stand here ferever!" snapped Jones. Martha tutted and rolled her eyes, thankfully neither action clear enough for Jones to witness. She took small steps over to him, and rested her elbows against the railing, sinking into a slouch.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"The _land lover_ requested that I follow him tae the Brethren Court, more fool him, I already know where it is but he's none too smart and did nae realise this!" replied Jones.

"I can't believe you're lettin' him order you around," said Martha quietly.

"What other choice do I have lass? Death? Leavin' the charlatans who caused all this free tae rule _my_ seas, the thought sickens me!"

"I've seen enough of you to know that this isn't like you, he's making demands that go against your character,"

"Ha!" Jones's chuckle was cold and patronising "ye know nothin' about my character. The sufferin' of others is my craft, what do another two deaths matter tae me?"

"Two?" Martha queried.

"The leviathan, dead as ordered," Jones smirked as Martha's mouth fell partially open "do nae worry yer typically female instincts Miss Jones," he goaded "was a quick, probably not painless,"

"I hope the second one wasn't some sort of amusement!" Martha snapped. Jones glared at her again, baring his teeth. It was as though he couldn't decide between anger and distress.

"The Kraken's been with me fer years, did nae want to do it, unfortunately it had tae be done," sighed Jones, rooting around in one of his pockets. "Hold out yer hand…" he said. Martha looked him up and down suspiciously but did as she was told, sucking on her bottom lip as she lifted up a hand with the palm facing upwards. Jones pulled an object out of his pocket that glistened in the faint light and dropped it into Martha's hand. It was cold and the chain almost slipped through her fingers. "That belonged to her,"

"Who?" asked Martha, now cupping the locket in both hands.

"The woman in yer dream, she was called Calypso. I asked Beckett tae kill her in return for my services," said Jones closing his eyes with a pained sigh. "I wanted nothin' more than tae see her suffer and now…"

"You regret it?" Martha butted in.

"Ha! Regret is fer the weak minded," Jones cruelly remarked "besides, she's clearly not completely dead, obviously takin' delight in tormenting her own sex now as well as cursing men,"

"How is that possible?" said Martha, the locket beginning to feel like a dead weight in her hands. "I mean, she said I wouldn't understand so told me she's a ghost,"

Jones shrugged "probably another trick of accursed sorcery," he replied.

Martha sighed and held the locket up in front of Jones's face. "Here, you better have this back," she said.

"Keep it," replied Jones, waving his right hand in a dismissive manner "nae point in me havin' two of them,"

"But…it was _hers_," said Martha, furrowing her brow.

"Aye, and if she wants it back she'll come fer it. Fer now, keep it. Maybe if yer Doctor ever loves ye, y'can give it tae him," he paused to chuckle again "_if_ he ever gets ye off this ship,"

Martha curled her fingers around the locket and clutched it to her chest. Now she was angry and confused, was he encouraging Calypso to haunt her dreams further? Or was he simply looking for a way to cast away the memory. Now that Martha had the locket, Calypso was truly out of sight and mind. _"Perhaps its another peace offering,"_ Martha thought, reminding her of something she had been meaning to ask for a while. "Was this dress hers too?" she gestured with her free hand.

Jones shook his head "the crew like tae keep things from raids, that was on a ship we attacked about a year ago," he grinned "was either that or make ye dress like a cabin boy!"

Martha opened her mouth to speak but a commotion from the direction of the main deck halted her efforts. Jones tore away from the railing and almost flew down the steps, his crab leg striking the wood like thunder. Martha quickly stuffed the locket down her dress, not wanting to wear it in case anybody got the wrong impression, and followed Jones with much lighter footsteps. Two men were struggling against one another near an entrance to the cargo hold, one had a sword held against the others neck and both were sporting a variety of cuts and bruises. Jones was demanding an explanation, which in turn stirred the rest of the crew up from their slumber.

"Not that this concerns you _former_ Captain Jones, but the Admiral here was assisting the escape of a prisoner, shame isn't it?" said Mercer with a patronising sneer. Norrington dug his fingers into the arm that was against his shoulders and continued to struggle. Mercer simply pressed the blade harder against the admiral's throat, causing his breath to hitch.

"What?" Jones hissed. "Greenbeard ye incompetent slime!" he yelled in the direction of the helm.

"Our good friend The Doctor, escaped in that strange contraption of his," Mercer replied and Martha couldn't help smiling at the news "and I overheard Admiral Norrington telling him to help our enemy, bit of a problem for the both of us, don't you think?" asked Mercer.

"Ye can kill each other fer all I care, one less problem fer me I'd say!" snapped Jones. Mercer tightened the grip of his free hand and moved the sword away from Norrington, pointing it toward Jones.

"You forget, this ship is now solely under _my_ command, one false move and you're no longer alive to even consider defying my Lord Beckett," growled Mercer.

"Goin' tae see tae that personally?" laughed Jones. Mercer's gaze remained cold and calculating as he idly pointed the blade at Martha.

"Perhaps your lady friend there would like to have a stab at that bothersome heart of yours!" said Mercer, a smug smile creeping across his face as Jones hesitated.

"Yer bluffing!"

"He'd better be," hissed Martha.

"Want to test that theory?" Mercer asked sternly. "What would you suggest that I, your new commanding officer, do with this common convict?"

"Keep him alive," replied Jones after a moment of silence "so that when The Doctor returns with his latest allies, he can watch the admiral die before _I_ kill _him_ fer his lies,"

"What?" Martha yelled. "You can't do that! He's trying to help! They both were," she said, giving Norrington a supportive glance.

"He can't," Mercer interrupted "but I happen to think that his request is reasonable, Lord Beckett would also prefer a dead Doctor,"

"Don't do this!" demanded Martha, shaking Jones by the arm. He pulled away from her grip and growled.

"Yer Doctor's latest trick has tried the very last of my patience, he can nae be trusted _again_, and fer yer little outburst, yer goin' tae be scrubbin' this deck so hard this week that yer fingers will bleed!" he snapped.

"I'll let the admiral here become reacquainted with the brig," snarled Mercer, dragging Norrington with the assistance of Clanker. As they disappeared below, Martha stood her ground, staring expectantly at Jones.

"Get out of my sight," he snapped. Martha obediently bowed her head.

"Sir," she hissed "and if you don't mind, I'm still keeping the locket,"

"So ye can put it around yer Doctor's lifeless neck?" Jones scoffed.

"No, so I can remind myself that you once had a heart!" Martha spat back, storming toward the crew's quarters and not once looking back.

-0-0-0-

"From the Caribbean to South China," The Doctor muttered as he closed the TARDIS door. "Woah there!" the surface onto which he had landed was evidently less stable than expected. He had almost slipped, for the ground below was quite slimy. The drop wasn't steep but for miles ahead all that could be seen was black water. Several eerie creeks echoed one another in the howling breeze and the ground rocked slightly.

It didn't take long to realise that this was no ground at all; the island was constructed entirely of ships, wrecked ships that had run aground or sunken ships creating the foundations. The TARDIS was perched upon an overturned hull, leaning against the main mast of another ship that was lying over the side. Another mast rested over the roof of the TARDIS, effectively locking it into place. With a sigh, The Doctor shuffled around, trying to find the best way down _without_ having to set foot in the water.

"No telling how deep that is," he mused, lifting up the sonic screwdriver for more light. "Now this is ominously familiar," he said, remembering the events that had started all this. While attempting to climb down one level, hoping to discover the entrance, The Doctor skidded and fell over onto his back, coming to rest on a ship that was partially submerged on its side. He groaned as he sat up, rubbing his back with his other hand. "Odd," he said as he noticed a woven hat floating in the water directly in front of him. "Fits in with this part of the world, but what happened to the owner," he whispered. He would never admit it out loud but talking to nobody was becoming tiresome, he missed Martha's encouragement. He sighed and lifted the hat from the water, shaking it dry. It was a poor disguise given the rest of his clothing, but he was anticipating a crowd inside and wearing a hat would give him some extra cover.

The Doctor picked up a piece of driftwood and threw it, ducking into the shadows as the distracted guards temporarily left the main entrance. The Doctor tiptoed behind them and slipped into the main body of ships, following the sound of voices in a distant chamber. After facing the devil of the seas, The Doctor now had to face those trying to regain control of the seas. "Welcome to the Brethren Court" he sighed before turning a corner.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes: **First, again I apologise to those waiting for an update. I had to take a break from this story because I wasn't sure what I wanted to happen in the middle. I have an ending in mind but there's no point filling the period inbetween with an ill thought-out plot. I've also recently started a Masters degree so didn't come back to this as quickly as I would've liked! Thank you for waiting, and I hope I'll be quicker with a new chapter this time.

This chapter is very Martha-centric I'm afraid. The Doctor still has a big part to play, in fact he's going to get over his dislike of Jack Sparrow in the coming chapters! I always knew they'd probably get along eventually, but wanted that initial mistrust so that it didn't seem artificial.

**Chapter Ten:**

_Roughly one day earlier._

Martha's ears were ringing. She pressed her fingers to her temples and groaned. She knew that she would have to face a battle sooner or later but hadn't anticipated that non-fictional cannon fire would be so _loud_, not to mention smoky. It always looked so much more endurable in the films. She surveyed the other ship as the _Dutchman_ made a final turn, becoming parallel to the other vessel, the splintered wood on its port side coming into full view. At that moment, Martha realised that this had not been a battle, it was annihilation. Bodies were scattered across the deck and survivors desperately called in an alien language as they seemingly searched for their captain.

In spite of some cosmetic damage, the ship had remained remarkably intact from the _Dutchman's_ surprise attack. Martha had been on hand, stationed at a gun port. They hadn't been told to cause superficial damage, Jones had ordered them to aim. It chilled Martha's blood once she realised that the intended target must've been a human being.

"What did we just do?" she muttered, eyes fixed upon the ship as Jimmylegs and Maccus prepared to board. Martha jumped as a single _thump_ assaulted her already delicate ears. She had been speaking aloud and _really_ hoped that Jones didn't assume she was questioning his order.

"Carryin' out orders tae neutralise the Brethren Court ," replied Jones in surprisingly placid tones. "Now, are ye goin' tae just stand there admiring yer handiwork or am I goin' tae have tae kick ye over there?" he added bluntly. He thrust a pistol into her hand to further emphasise the point.

Martha bit back a frustrated sigh as she pulled away from the railing. "No Captain,"

On board the _Empress_, Jimmylegs and Maccus were arguing. It was quite a heated confrontation and many vile blows were exchanged as the two could not agree on the correct interpretation of Jones's latest orders. Surrounding them were a few dozen terrified prisoners, dressed in a style that Martha concluded must be Chinese. That struck her as odd, she had never heard of Chinese pirates. Then again, she had never heard of a man who cut out his own heart and turned into a squid…

Martha cleared her throat and the two fish-men looked at her in surprise. "Yer pushin' yer luck girl!" snapped Jimmylegs.

"Don't start bullyin' her just cos she's an easy target bo'sun!" Maccus interjected.

"Sirs please! Don't start that again, I've got a headache," said Martha. "What's the problem anyway?"

"'Legs reckons that we have to lock this lot up in our brig, but the Cap'n told me that space is occupied so we're to tow them and lock them in their _own_ brig," replied Maccus.

"He said, put them in the brig and tow the ship, I say he means _our_ brig!"

"Sorry sir, but I agree with Mr Maccus," said Martha, with a pre-emptive flinch as Jimmylegs was clearly spoiling for a flogging. She clarified "he said the same to me, don't let them mix with the traitor,"

Jimmylegs snarled and clenched his fist tighter around the ever-present whip in his grasp. "Fine then! Go into the state room and round up any stragglers," he barked.

"But…they're men," Martha protested.

"Yes they are, and it's about time you prove that you can pull your weight around 'ere without the Captain protecting you!" said Jimmylegs, swiftly turning away from her to deny a witty comeback.

Martha rolled her eyes and marched forward, her pistol raised. It was going to be another very long twenty-four hours without The Doctor.

-0-0-0-

Once in the state room Martha was greeted by utter chaos. Splintered wood was strewn across the ornate carpet covering the deck. Two men lay dying and bloodied near the door, the victims of a direct hit from a powerful cannon blast. There was a gaping hole in the ship near the centre of the room. Directly opposite this, a slender woman dressed in oriental finery crouched over the body of a man. He was not moving.

Still unaccustomed to violence, Martha quietly approached. The woman turned her head and jumped to her feet, snatching something away from the limp hand of the man beneath her. The woman rose to her full height and stretched out her neck, regarding Martha with caution. "Will did not mention a woman was aboard the _Dutchman_," the woman stated in flat tones.

Martha could not gauge whether or not the statement was genuine surprise or a show of possession. She placed a hand defensively upon her hip. "Who's Will?"

"My husband…" the woman replied, her eyes flicking to the floor briefly as though pained "well, almost my husband. He escaped your accursed vessel and still our wedding night alludes us,"

Martha furrowed her brow "wait a minute, he escaped?"

"Yes of course," snapped the woman, as though she were annoyed that someone had doubted Will's worth. "Have you not met his father?" Martha shrugged and the woman let out a displeased sigh. "His name is Bill,"

Martha's eyes widened as realisation dawned. "Bootstrap?"

The woman opened her mouth to answer, but barely had the time to think as a set of footsteps approached the state room door. In that same moment Martha dropped her pistol, lurched forward and pushed the other woman by the shoulders in such a way that she fell back to the floor. "You're dead," Martha hissed under her breath. The woman had to suppress a frightened whimper as her face was pressed closely against the cooling cheek of the dead man, his eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

"What's goin' on in 'ere?" demanded Jimmylegs with an unpleasant scowl that could challenge even Davy Jones.

"They're all dead sir," Martha replied. She attempted a subtle glance toward the still very much living young woman, who closed her eyes to feign death.

"Well, what's takin' you so long, I've seen coral reefs move faster than you girl!"

Martha had to think fast. She smoothed a hand down her dress and instantly remembers Jones's comment about the crew scavenging claimed vessels. "Just looking for treasure, might as well since we're pirates," she said with a false smile.

Jimmylegs snorted "well be quick about it, we've got prisoners to move!" As he left the room, he paused to look over his shoulder and grinned. "Don't ever let the Captain hear y'callin' him a _pirate_, it'll be the last thing you'll ever utter with that venomous tongue!"

Martha rolled her eyes and waited until she was sure Jimmylegs was out of earshot. She bent down at the knees and offered her hand, pulling the woman back to her feet. "I'm Martha,"

"Elizabeth," said the woman, rightfully displaying an element of mistrust and shying away from Martha. "For what reason do you help me?"

"I'm not helpin' you, I'm helpin' me. I need to know how to escape this ship,"

Elizabeth laughed slightly "I can't tell you that! There's only one reason Will managed to escape and that was because he did not swear an oath. Evidently you were foolish enough to do just that!" she gestured to the variety of sea life that was beginning to infest Martha's person.

"I have a friend, he was supposed to rescue me," Martha was quieter now, and unable to look Elizabeth directly in the eye.

"You care for him?" Elizabeth enquired. Martha did not even answer with a nod. "I care very much for Will, and he once rescued me, but at this moment he is in as much need of my protection as I am his. Perhaps your friend is in need,"

Martha sighed, "He is out there alone, running out of allies,"

"Then we share a common goal. _You_ help _me_ escape and I promise that you will be able to find your friend. I will secure your freedom as well as that of Bootstrap. I fear that Will is prepared to do anything to undo his father's curse, _anything_,"

Martha sucked in a breath, suddenly overcome with a previously dormant kind of guilt. "The heart," she muttered, dropping her gaze again.

"You can't possibly be lamenting that Jones may die!"

"Just…don't even go there!" hissed Martha. "Let's concentrate on getting you and this ship as far away from here as possible. Who is captain?" Elizabeth smirked and pointed to the man on the floor. "Oh, well never mind then…let's just call you the captain,"

"I already am," Elizabeth smugly replied.

"Whatever works," said Martha as she knelt to retrieve the pistol. She handed it to Elizabeth, who appeared somewhat confused. "Hide it somewhere!" Elizabeth obeyed, sliding the pistol under her upper garment. "Right, here's the plan. I lead you out and say that oh no actually you were alive. Then you break free and run around a bit causing a distraction,"

"That doesn't sound like a very good plan," Elizabeth interrupted.

"I'm not finished alright? While you're distracting my crew, I'll untie some of your men and they can cause another distraction. Then run toward the bow and loosen the tow-line. I'll chase you, then you shoot me overboard and I'll grab onto the tow-line as I fall,"

"You'll die!"

"I _can't_ die, not sayin' it won't hurt though" replied Martha with a wince.

"Even if you manage to do all that, we'll still have two of your men onboard," said Elizabeth, her expression failing to hide her doubt.

"Well, I'm kind of counting on the fact that Captain Jones told them that I can't be lost or harmed, hence you shooting me overboard. It'd be a great alternative if your men could overcome them," Martha paused and ran an impatient hand over her semi-transformed hair, "wow I think I just gave my friend's motor mouth some serious competition…" she added as an afterthought.

Elizabeth ignored that final remark and remained sceptical "I knew someone who executed plans such as these, they work for him but only just, and he was _good_ at this!"

"Well, my friend is the same, hopefully I'm a good apprentice…"

"Martha!" outside, Jimmylegs was clearly growing impatient. "Get yer worthless hindquarters out 'ere, there's nothin' of value in there!"

"Now or never," Martha chirped, motioning for Elizabeth to leave. Elizabeth sighed and clasped her hands behind her back as she stepped out into the light.

-0-0-0-

The first part of Martha's plan was performed with faultless brilliance. Elizabeth was the perfect actress in pretending to break free and even lightly elbowed Martha in the stomach for added effect. Maccus and Jimmylegs both chased Elizabeth up to the helm and back down onto the main deck. In the mean time, Martha swiftly moved from one man to another untying their bonds and whispering that they should free more men. Unfortunately, once three men were freed, enough commotion had been caused to alert Jimmylegs, who called across to the _Dutchman_ for help. Luckily, Martha had managed to slip behind the next man she had been attempting to free, and she threw herself on the deck, pretending that Elizabeth had hit her really hard.

"Oh…bollocks," Martha growled, realising that Elizabeth was running around in circles for she was supposed to unarmed and thus cornered at every turn. Martha had underestimated Jimmylegs's agility. In spite of this setback, fate was feeling kind. A freed _Empress_ pirate was taking full advantage of the mêlée and untying every rope in sight, including those that connected both ships. The second wave of _Dutchman_ crew fell unceremoniously into the sea, taking their weapons and dignity with them. _"The captain's not going to like this…"_ flashed through Martha's mind on repeat but she didn't care. She lunged at Elizabeth as she ran past. It was a calculated move on Martha's part for she deliberately missed. Elizabeth headed toward the bow and ordered the ever-increasing number of freed men to attack Maccus and Jimmylegs.

The next few seconds were a blur from Martha's point of view. As promised, she arrived at the bow to challenge Elizabeth, who was overcome with second thoughts. After an exchange of reassuring glances, all Martha could remember was the bang followed by the smell of gunpowder, the searing pain in her leg and falling. Always falling. Her arms stretched out blindly reaching for the rope. Her ankle bashed against something, probably the base of the bowsprit. Her heartbeat was screaming in her ears and blood swirling around her body as she hit the water belly first.

A sense of dread overcame her, had she misjudged the situation? Was it possible that crew could actually die from something such as a bullet wound? Then there was the worry that Elizabeth's crew had failed to overcome their captors and Martha was dying for nothing. Martha willed her body to carry on, she fought the burning desire to close her eyes and just sink. She swam. She swam harder than she had ever done in her entire life with one hand constantly groping through the water. If she could get back to the _Dutchman_, she hoped that she would still live to see another sunrise.

-0-0-0-

She remembered breaking through the surface of the water, bumping her head against something wooden and clawing her way up the side of the ship. The last push was the worst. Her arms were aching and her thigh numb from the bullet. She felt a clammy hand grasp one of her own, that familiar tentacled finger curling around her wrist as it had done once before. She was pulled roughly onto the main deck of the _Dutchman_. Then the darkness claimed her.

-0-0-0-

When Martha regained consciousness she was in great pain. A throbbing sensation shuddered along her thighbone and into her lower back. Her eyelids fluttered open and she grimaced. She attempted to sit up and was instantly weighed down by the chest. Davy Jones had rested his claw just below her throat. "Best nae try tae sit lass," he said, his tone not exactly friendly.

As her vision came back into focus, Martha attempted to look around without turning her head. She could see the pipe organ ahead of her in the distance. To her left was a plush armrest covered in mould. Also along her left side was a decorative chair back, suggesting that she was lying on a couch. That too was covered in so much mould that the original red colour was only just visible. "What happened?" she muttered as if she didn't know.

Jones snorted "yer incompetence that's what!" he paused and snipped a piece of fabric in half with his claw "ye let that harridan escape, and she got yer pistol and_ then_ ye had the brilliant idea tae challenge someone who was armed when ye weren't!" he spat. It was only when Martha felt something being pulled tight around her right thigh that she realised what Jones was doing. Without any care for the pain it would cause, Martha sat bolt upright.

"I can do that!" she snapped, trying to pull the skirt of her dress back down.

"Ha! Think I was havin' a good look? Only lifted yer skirts as far as was needed, nae need to suddenly come over all shy now Miss Jones!"

Martha shrank back against the armrest and lowered her leg, allowing Jones to finish dressing her wound. "I'm surprised you decided to do this, especially the way you spoke to me last night," Jones scoffed in reply. "How come I didn't die?" asked Martha.

"How long have ye been here?" Jones teased, "ye cannae die, but ye _can_ hurt, and that was through no fault but yer own," he rose from a kneeling position and scowled "and tae top off a brilliant first raid, ye lost the prisoners!"

"Sorry," said Martha sheepishly.

"Aye, ye will be! I was promised all the souls this ship could hold, that was our agreement. Lost my bounty because of yer dramatics! At least the _land lover_ is appeased, thank the gods fer small mercies!"

"Lord Beckett?" Martha enquired and Jones gave a single nod. "Oh, there was a man dead on that ship,"

"That'd be Sao Feng. We're in his waters, well…what he liked tae think were his waters," replied Jones obviously referencing his own lordship over the seas.

Martha swung her legs around and lifted herself from the couch, brushing dust from her back and wringing out the final remnants of water from her skirts. "Where are we?" she asked, certain that wherever it was, it wasn't the Caribbean.

"On our way tae Shipwreck Island, we've got a court tae attack!" Jones replied. "Ye can go help clean the guns, they're goin' tae need it, that can be yer punishment," he laughed, knowing that it was a thankless task as they'd only become dirty again.

"But I'm injured!" Martha protested, gesturing to her thigh.

"Legs did nae complain about goin' back tae his duties having been told tae flog himself, which was a sight tae behold. Do ye want tae be his second victim?"

"No Captain," Martha grumbled as she limped over to the exit. She didn't know how much longer she could put up with being nicer to Jones. For every kind gesture, he was _still_ giving out three of four negative signals that tested her resolve. She was sure it was deliberate this time. He was definitely chuckling as she left the cabin.

-0-0-0-

_One day later._

The Doctor was in the belly of Shipwreck Cove now, hiding behind the rows of men surrounding a central table. Around that table sat a large group of men and two women dressed in much finer clothes than their standing counterparts. The Doctor briefly stood on his tiptoes, craning his neck to get a better look. He recognised Sparrow, standing next to a young woman dressed in a manner that suggested she was in charge of the guards outside. Next to her was another man, older than Sparrow, with a scraggly beard and a harsh accent. He was currently chastising the young lady at his side. The Doctor arrived mid-conversation, but it seemed this older man was unable to believe that the woman was now…a _king_?!

"Am I to assume that we won't be keeping to the code?" said Sparrow in his usual drunken slur. The commotion from the others seated at the table died down and they seemingly conceded, albeit reluctantly.

"And _what_ be giving ye the right to question the actions of others Jack, when it be yer actions that have put this Brethren at a grave disadvantage!" snapped the other man.

"I only did what any one of you would've done were you in my position. I came back did I not? There is one not among us who has clearly abandoned our cause…"

"You leave Will out of this!" hissed the woman.

"For that I'm going to retract my vote, you're deposed," said Sparrow with a point of his finger.

"Ye can't be doing that Jack, it not be part of the code," sighed the other man with a roll of his eyes. "Now, Miss Swann, please…"

"Thank you Barbossa," replied Elizabeth with a polite nod. "The East India Company have Calypso, but there is no time to debate who is to blame when that question has an obvious answer," she shot a disgusted glance in the direction of Sparrow, whose upper lip twitched. "If we get her back, we can still free her, therefore we must fight!"

The Doctor, feeling brave, decided that the matter of Calypso was a useful point to chip in. "I think you've hit a little bit of a snag there," he cheerfully called out.

Every head in the room turned in unison and every pair of eyes successfully located The Doctor, who was still wearing his borrowed hat. However, his clothes and his rather hygienic appearance made him stick out like a sore thumb. His usual silly grin slipped across his face and his eyes sparkled. A single sound filled the hollowed hull of Shipwreck Cove, the sound of many pirates drawing their pistols and lightly squeezing the trigger, ready to fire.

The Doctor slowly raised his hands and spread his fingers in a gesture of surrender. He relaxed his mouth and gave a less assured smile. He then greeted the Brethren Court in the only way that he knew how to greet a potentially hostile group. "Hello there, I'm The Doctor…"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven:**

"Now, I know that as a hostage it's in my best interests to tell you this, but I really would reconsider shooting me," said The Doctor, still all smiles.

The one named Barbossa lowered his pistol slightly "that remains to be seen, but ye not be in a position to bargain now, are ye?" he replied with an icy smirk.

"Well, you have got me there," The Doctor relaxed his fingers a little "and although it's not my place to make demands, especially after interrupting the association of continental stereotypes anonymous…" he trailed off as a pistol was pressed rather violently against his temple. "Sorry, I really should keep quiet, shouldn't I?"

"Give me one good reason why I should not give the order to shoot ye where ye stand!"

"Your order? I don't recall you being in charge," Elizabeth interjected.

Barbossa rolled his eyes "I being that very reason we be here in the first place, Miss Swann,"

"Excuse me, but who was elected king a moment ago?"

"A decision that some us of still believe is a travesty!" snapped the other woman at the table, which lead to another chorus of angry voices. From The Doctor's point of view it was a good thing, for they had forgotten to keep aiming their pistols at him. However, the room was getting so heated that he anticipated being witness to a brawl, or worse _involved_ in one. Without hesitation, he grabbed the nearest available wrist and prised the pistol from the hand of its owner. The room fell silent once the shot had been fired.

"Pirates…please, the reason I am here concerns all of you! I know you're not pleased with my presence here…"

"There's an interesting conundrum dear Doctor, how _did_ you get in here?" asked Sparrow.

Now it was The Doctor who rolled his eyes "let's just say that I have my ways Sparrow, leave it at that,"

Elizabeth was curious. "You two know each other?"

"Oh we go way back!" said The Doctor, somewhat sarcastically as he frantically paced back and forth.

"He was on the same ship where I took Tia Dalma," Sparrow announced, receiving a poisonous look from Barbossa for his troubles.

"Not by choice, there were circumstances, like each and every one of you I'm a victim in all this," The Doctor finally stood still and slipped his hands into his pockets.

"If you were a victim and you're now no longer on that ship, that would perhaps suggest that you escaped, which would also suggest that perhaps, by some fortunate coincidence, Tia Dalma escaped,"

The Doctor shook his head and approached Sparrow, standing closely in front of him "I'm afraid that's why I'm here. Tia Dalma is dead," he was interrupted by a united gasp. "I'm sorry,"

Almost immediately someone shouted, "kill him!"

The Doctor spun round to face the rest of the court "I couldn't stop it from happening!" he protested.

"Not you," said the female pirate "him!" she pointed at Sparrow.

"Well," Barbossa sounded almost pleased "I suppose we won't be needing his piece of eight, 'tis fair punishment fer valuing his own life over those of everyone else!" Sparrow simply shrugged, silently admitting that Barbossa's assessment was fair.

"And which of you wouldn't have done the same in his position hmm?" The Doctor reasoned as he resumed pacing, "I don't pretend to know anything about your moral code, but I know pirates. Which of you _hasn't_ ever double-crossed your fellow pirate in order to secure that small fortune? Which of you hasn't ever collaborated with the East India Company because they lied to you and claimed that you would be immune to their relentless pursuit?" he faced the court once more and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Nobody dared look him in the eye.

"He's right, in fact I'd go as far as saying he knows from personal experience…" said Sparrow.

"Jack…" The Doctor warned.

Sparrow continued having not heard The Doctor "…I'm guessing working for the Company didn't work out for him either,"

"You were working for them?" hissed Elizabeth.

The Doctor grimaced "well, working for is such a strong term," he backed away from the table as a number of pirates rose to their feet, crowding around him with stern expressions on their faces.

"And how are we to know that ye be not still in their service? Yer not exactly a trustworthy source now are ye?" Barbossa cruelly remarked. The Doctor was backed further toward a wall, one hand raised and the other attempting a subtle rummage through his jacket pocket. He really hoped that these people weren't as observant as Davy Jones. It would be his second sonic screwdriver lost in just as many months.

"Ah but!" The Doctor called "I may not be _trustworthy_ but I do know you can trust me on one thing…just one little thing," he pointed to the ceiling "if you're going to corner a man with a sonic screwdriver, don't do it under a roof full of loose timbers," He produced the sonic screwdriver from his pocket and aimed it at a particularly rotted section of hull. His potential captors could do nothing but cover their heads as they were showered with small shards of damp wood. The Doctor seized his chance and bolted for the exit, knocking over a few confused guards on his way out. Not much wood had fallen and so he anticipated that he would be followed. Still, it was enough of a head start to climb up to the TARDIS, which was thankfully too high up to notice if one was not looking for it.

Some who were overenthusiastic in their chase fell into the water outside. The pirate lords watched their step more carefully, surveying the number of docked ships ahead and becoming quite distressed. There was no sign of their prisoner. "He couldn't have rowed to one of our ships that quickly, could he?" asked Elizabeth.

"That _thing_ he carries be like no tool of man I 'ave ever set these eyes upon, that be the devil's work," said Barbossa.

"Well, I always thought Jones was the devil, and last time I checked he wasn't in the business of making bleepy glowy things that can disturb firmly fixed wood," Sparrow observed, stroking his beard curiously.

Barbossa gave an annoyed grunt "_a_ devil's work then! And forgive me if this already be obvious, but yer not exactly courtin' favour at this moment Jack…best make yerself useful,"

"You want me to find him?" asked Sparrow with a slight swagger. "He could be anywhere, you may have already observed that this is a big place, can't expect me to cover a very large area in the time we have left,"

"Aye, so ye best get started now, we'll be goin' on without ye,"

"And you better come back with a prisoner or not at all," Elizabeth added.

"That's the last time I vote for you," said Sparrow before breaking away from the group to begin his search.

-0-0-0-

Once again, Martha awoke with a start. Her heartbeat was thundering in her ears and a film of cool sweat covered her forehead. She had been seeing Calypso in her dreams quite regularly, to the point where dare not sleep for very long. Each time Calypso upped the torment. This time Martha had been wearing the locket around her neck, and the witch had slowly prowled toward Martha. She couldn't move, no matter how much she struggled her limbs were locked into place. Calypso was so close that the stench of death invaded all of Martha's senses. With a single tug, violent enough to dig the chain into Martha's neck, Calypso removed the locket with a murderous snarl.

The torment in this particular dream wasn't over. Martha could hear The Doctor desperately calling her name. Calypso disappeared and the ground opened up beneath Martha's feet, revealing a burning chasm. In the centre of a merciless ring of fire, there stood The Doctor yelling for Martha's help. _"Don't just stand there…"_ he was quite condescending. Martha still couldn't move, she was floating above the chasm and could not intervene. Before she woke up she could feel the ground shaking and the chasm grew deeper…deeper. It became so deep that The Doctor was out of sight, nothing but orange flames left in his place.

The locket fell out of Martha's hand as her arm fell from her chest and it was then that she awoke. She had to sleep on the cold hard deck now and her bones creaked as she tried to stand. After failing to capture Sao Feng's crew the _Dutchman_ had an increased presence of marines. Beckett believed that Jones had failed on purpose to undermine the East India Company. Martha had been in enough trouble; such accusation won her no favours. Yet Jones was very kind in not unleashing verbal hell on Martha and instead told a marine that he could sleep in the hammock. Martha didn't let on that she was actually quite relieved, it was getting tiresome falling out of the damned thing after a bad dream.

Too drained emotionally to go back to sleep, Martha decided to take a stroll. She hid the locket under her fingers against the palm of her hand and exited the crew's quarters. Her first calling point was the brig to slip a water skin through the bars for Norrington. She had been doing this ever since he was imprisoned but could only do so at night. He was always asleep. Martha was quite comforted by the fact that Norrington wouldn't even know the identity of his secret donor. Nor was Bootstrap aware for he spent most of his life half buried in a section of wall with his eyes closed. Sometimes Martha wondered what those two talked about. She knew from experience that the brig was a cruel and lonely place.

Next, Martha decided to visit Jones. This was always a risky venture; his mood was never predictable especially after Martha had given him good reason to be displeased. She just had to talk to someone who constituted a familiar face. Normally in times of distress she would run to The Doctor…but he still wasn't here. She hated to admit it but in this time frame, Jones was officially the person she knew best. Not that she would test him by calling him a Doctor substitute…

"Just where do you think you're going young lady?" of all the people to bump into, Mercer was definitely bottom of a very long list. He slithered out of the variety of shadows cast by the sails and revealed a grotesquely suspicious expression on his face. Behind him was a much younger man, nervously holding onto the Dead Man's Chest. Mercer had take to wandering around with the chest to hand, just in case Jones decided to step out of line.

At the sound of Mercer's voice, Martha froze on the spot and sighed. "I need to see the captain,"

"He's here, right in front of you. Or have you forgotten?" Mercer sneered, pacing to Martha's right. She followed him with her eyes but still did not move.

"I meant _my_ captain," she snapped before adding a calmer "sir," for want of a quick and peaceful exchange.

"If it's important, you can tell me. I'm in charge now Miss Jones, and I don't recall giving crewmen permission to wander at night,"

"Well, it's a good job I'm not a man," replied Martha as she defiantly stepped away from him and continued toward the cabin. She walked with a slight limp, her wound still troubling her.

"Take one more step…"

Martha looked over her shoulder "what are you going to do?" she briefly gazed at the chest "kill me?" she scoffed. If she had been sure that Jones was awake she would've probably slammed the door in Mercer's face. Instead she had to be satisfied with a muted click.

-0-0-0-

Jones was sitting in his favoured spot in front of the pipe organ. His shoulders were relaxed and his breathing steady. Martha quietly moved forward. This would work a lot better if he woke of his own accord. It was bad enough that she was risking his temper anyway for entering without being summoned.

Slowly, Martha climbed over the bench so that she could sit to Jones's right as she had done once before. She really hoped that he would wake up soon. Between the horrible dreams and Mercer's bullying, it was the loneliness that bothered Martha the most. The thought that Jones had been alone for possibly hundreds of years caused a great sadness to weigh upon Martha's heart. Was that what she was facing? Hundreds of years until she faded into nothing, all because she had been foolish enough to trust The Doctor when he said that her oath would not be permanent.

Bravely, Martha rested her head against Jones's shoulder. He was a bit cold and slimy, but then again so was she, now was not a time to be judgemental. She was beginning to forget what it meant to physically be warm and dry. At least the contact with another body dulled her loneliness, although it carried the risky bonus of angering Jones if he wasn't in a good mood. Martha closed her eyes and slipped into a light sleep, but it was short lived.

"Still a bit too brave at times lass," that was a positive sign. Jones was speaking softly. "Yer either tryin' to win favour, or ye did somethin' I'm nae goin' tae like," he said, lifting his head and straightening his spine, which caused Martha to move her head slightly. She blinked a couple of times and raised a hand to her forehead, rubbing it to combat the first signs of a tension headache.

"Neither of those really sir," Martha sighed "I just wanted some company I suppose,"

"Bad dream again?" asked Jones. Martha nodded and he exhaled loudly. "Can tell from yer posture, yer a wee bit dejected, like the last time…"

Martha turned over the hand that was holding the locket. She opened and closed her fingers a couple of times, carefully considering her next move. "I think you should have this back," she said in a neutral tone. She reached for Jones's right hand, pulling it toward her and placing the locket in the centre of his palm. He turned his head sharply and glared at her as though offended. "If anythin', the dreams are getting worse since you gave me this, I think she misinterpreted your actions,"

"It means nothin' tae her lass, was just givin' it away 'cos I had nae use fer it," Jones replied, looking at the organ now.

"She's doing a bloody good job of scarin' me over _nothin'_," snapped Martha. She completely removed her head from his shoulder and folded her arms, huffing slightly. "If she's some sort of ghost I think you're being hard on her, she _obviously_ cares about you or else she would've moved on by now!"

Jones slammed his claw against the edge of the lower keyboard and snarled. "If she cared that much, she would nae have left me alone on the one day I could be with her again," he threw Calypso's locket down next to his own "ten years I wasted faithfully carryin' out that duty she asked of me and she could nae remain faithful tae _me_,"

Martha swallowed hard. She swore that she wasn't going to cry but the lump in her throat was getting bigger and she sighed. "I'm sorry," she said for lack of anything better to offer.

"Nay lass, yer not at fault. I should nae yell at you. Well, _this_ time," Jones was calmer now. His ability to switch his temper on and off only aggravated Martha's headache and she found herself resting against his shoulder again. One tentacle idly curled over the back of her neck and twisted a small section of her hair against its suckers. Martha almost laughed; this was probably Jones's idea of a comforting hug. "What's so amusing Miss Jones?" he asked after noticing her smile.

"Nothing, Captain, I was just wondering if you ever hug people. I can't imagine it really,"

"Ha! Not fer a while, do I look like the type tae waste time on a _hug_,"

"That's funny," said Martha as she closed her eyes and adjusted her head to a more comfortable angle and continued dreamily "The Doctor said something like that…and he's always hugging people. Sometimes I wonder if he says those things just to keep me in my place,"

"Ye deserve better than that Martha," replied Jones, removing the tentacle from her hair "nae point dedicatin' yer entire life tae someone who cannae love you back, it makes the betrayal much more painful,"

Martha was fully alert again "voice of experience?" she scolded.

"_I_ only knew once it was too late!" hissed Jones. "I was but a man, a foolish weak-minded man. Better as I am then tae ever feel such weaknesses ever again,"

"It's not weak, it's being human!"

Jones snorted. "Human, ha! Not been that fer a while either,"

"But you were once," Martha replied, annoyed that he still perceived emotions as a weakness. "You have done some terrible things Captain Jones, but you have your reasons, and I've accepted them," she hesitated as she noticed his lip curling into a snarl. "Somewhere in there you still have a moral centre and you know it. You've had plenty of excuses to kill me, to punish me for simply being female, but instead you've listened to me and even come to understand me I _hope_,"

"Only because ye would nae survive on this ship without my protection!"

"Don't give me that bruised male ego crap, I've got that enough times from The Doctor! He won't admit when something's affecting him and neither will you, you're more alike than both of you would ever admit!" Jones snorted again and attempted to rise up from the bench. Martha reacted quickly, reaching for his wrist and trying to pull him back down. In the end it was his own decision, Martha knew she wasn't strong enough to force him back by her side. "See, that was a human reaction Captain. I said something that you didn't like and you were about to leave the conversation,"

"I was about tae throw ye out!" replied Jones with some humour returning to his voice.

"I know I deserve better, you were right. But The Doctor, he's like…I can't describe what he's like in enough words. He's just different. He affects people wherever he goes; he's their hero and sometimes their friend. I just think he needs someone to keep him grounded and I…I keep hoping it will be me,"

Jones sighed "he's unpredictable and powerful and yer drawn tae him, though y'know ye should stay away,"

"Voice of experience again?" Martha queried with a raised eyebrow.

"Aye, and in the end, I forsook everythin' she asked of me. I hid away the one thing that had always been hers,"

"It didn't stop you feeling, did it?"

Jones drew in a sad breath and picked his locket up. Even in the gloom Martha could see a pained look in his eyes. "It's worse, now that infernal _thing_ is back on my ship,"

"In my time, we only see it as a practical thing, needed to stay alive," said Martha, checking Jones's expression to gauge whether or not she should continue. "Emotions are connected to the metaphysical. Ok that word probably doesn't exist yet, what I mean is that what we feel has no physical form but we create one in our mind. I don't believe you could ever truly be…"

"Say it," Jones quietly hissed.

Martha gulped "heartless," She raised a trembling hand, as she had done when she first saw the heart, and cautiously hovered her fingers over Jones's chest. This time he didn't force her hand away, in fact she was sure that two longer tentacles separated for her. Martha didn't know what she was attempting. Was it to satisfy her curiosity and feel for a scar to confirm once and for all that the heart really was his? Perhaps she wanted to illustrate her point about feelings with actually touching the offending spot. Either way, she was unsure. He _could_ simply be tolerating this to a certain point before his temper reached critical mass. Martha's fingertips were close now, so close that they brushed against the small barnacles on the lapel of Jones's coat. She gulped again.

It didn't matter. A loud bang from behind them caused Martha to jump and she quickly withdrew her hand. Both she and Jones turned around to face the door. Mercer and a handful of his men had entered unannounced. They were carrying the chest and an assortment of weapons. Mercer, with a wry smile, took great delight in taunting the two of them. "Now then, that's enough bonding for one night. Given the lateness of the hour…anyone would think you were up to something," he sneered. "Better get back to your quarters girl, busy day ahead of us. We've got a brethren to attack,"

Martha stood, casually holding one hand behind her back. After a moment's confusion, Jones recognised her intentions and retrieved the other locket, slipping it into Martha's hand. Martha clasped both her hands in front of her as she stepped over the bench and kept her head held high as she walked towards Mercer. "I was just saying goodnight," she snapped.

As she left the cabin, she closed the door just enough so that she could peer through the tiny crack and hopefully listen to what Mercer had to say. It was a bit muffled but the venom in his voice was obvious "Are you going to co-operate Jones, or do I have to bring the girl back in and shoot her?"

Martha couldn't see but she was certain that Mercer pushed Jones in the chest a couple of times and maybe hit him across the head too. "Fight back you idiot," she whispered under her breath, feeling personally responsible for putting Jones in a vulnerable mood. With the heart in his possession Mercer clearly felt invincible. However, Martha knew that pride was always followed by a fall. She almost smiled at the thought that the next twenty-four hours may well be Mercer's last.

-0-0-0-

Jack Sparrow was scaling the rather unstable heights of Shipwreck Cove. "One false step and you'll be putting your foot through the roof and onto the table," he muttered to himself as he struggled to balance. He moved up to the final level where a man could possibly stand without collapsing the entire structure. He gave a satisfied sigh as he stood up straight and stretched out his arms. Something troubled him. His mouth fell open and he slowly lowered his arms. "Oh," the only word he could manage when confronted with a big blue box, perching quite safely on top of the mass of wrecked vessels below.

Jack knew two things about boxes. They usually contained treasure but unfortunately they were very rarely left unguarded. "Not your conventional box of treasure," he mused "and I must say Police Public Call is an odd name…" he shuffled closer and ran his hands along the corners "bugger me, there's an apostrophe missing," he shiftily glanced over his shoulder and felt for a way into the box, pushing the doors open slightly once he had located them. "Ah well, what does a correct grasp of the inner workings of the English language matter when there's treasure to be had," he said as he stepped over the threshold, expecting to be confined to a very small space full of gold stacked up to three times his height.

Sparrow nervously looked around and his upper lip twitched. He leapt backwards out of the box onto the upturned hull. He frantically sidestepped around the box, feeling with his hands and occasionally tapping against the wood. With some hesitation he walked back through the doors. He blinked, the sight before him _still_ not what he expected. "There comes a time when one must realise that one must stop drinking rum," he paused "I can't believe those words came out of me mouth anymore than agreeing with the murderess down there…"

Suddenly The Doctor's interrupted Sparrow's outer monologue "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're quite sober at this moment in time," The Doctor walked through a door on the opposite side of the console room, confusing Sparrow further because it implied this place was _even_ _bigger_.

"Am I back in the Locker?" asked Sparrow, still not wanting to move any further. The Doctor stood still with his hands in his pockets trying not to laugh.

"No," he replied.

"Is this a dream?"

"Nope," The Doctor moved over to the console and Sparrow copied him, albeit timidly. His fear however soon subsided. He spotted a small green orb that appeared to be of significant value. The Doctor was busy looking at something else. Sparrow subtly reached over, his fingers almost touching that wonderful prize. "Don't even think about it, touch that while we're not moving and the entire world, along with everything else, gets sucked into a black hole," The Doctor warned.

"Is there any treasure in here at all?"

"Nope, no treasure," The Doctor replied, resuming his hands in pockets stance. Sparrow stuck out his bottom lip in disappointment and backed away from the console. "Here," said The Doctor after he had searched his pockets. He threw a small box over to Sparrow who was quick to react and caught it. The Doctor smiled "take one of those,"

Sparrow was squashing the packet in his hand "what are they?" he asked with some degree of suspicion.

"Post-post mortem and reincarnation pain relief," said The Doctor "also known as paracetamol, well a more advanced form of paracetamol" he added.

Sparrow had worked out how to open the small flap on the side and was now sifting through the three layers of foil, pressing his thumbs against the raised capsules on the white underside. "Poisoned," he muttered.

"Oh come on now Sparrow, I know far more effective ways of killing you. That is if I wanted to in the first place," he smiled again "trust me, you may be every so _slightly_ annoying but I know how it feels. Swallow one of those and I promise you the headaches and the hallucinations will stop,"

Sparrow popped one of the capsules and sniffed the contents within. He then placed the tablet on his tongue. He shuddered as he swallowed it, not expecting such a bland taste. Misunderstanding The Doctor's instructions he popped another capsule and was about to take a second tablet until The Doctor rushed over and snatched the box away from him. "Just _one_ Jack, unless you really do want to die. Again,"

"Once is enough," said Sparrow, smacking his lips.

"Going to be twice for you I'm afraid. Now, I have a proposition,"

"I like propositions, especially if they involve treasure," he thought for a moment "or rum,"

"Oooh," The Doctor exclaimed, "this is much better. You don't want to be fighting with that lot. You want to be on the _Flying Dutchman_, that's where all the actions going to be, it's where _I'm_ going to be, all that fighting over one heart. We can do a sweepstake on who will get it first,"

"Eh?" Jack was once again somewhat confused.

"Never mind, I'm probably using words that don't exist again. Anyway we can use my ship here, what do you say?"

"You mean, this _contraption_ is a ship?" replied Jack with an amused smirk. The Doctor nodded. "I think someone's had a little too much rum mate, and it ain't me,"

"This _contraption_ is a much more advanced ship than anything that you know of Sparrow, after everything you've seen in your life and even afterlife I doubt you actually doubt what I've just told you,"

"Well, if it temporarily gets me away from an unfortunate number of people who for some reason honestly unknown to myself want to kill me…I'm good with it!"

The Doctor sucked in a breath. Sparrow wasn't going to like his answer. "Actually, we need to talk to them first. I have something to tell them," Sparrow opened his mouth to protest "don't worry Jack, just convince them to trust me and I promise you'll very much be a free man…"

-0-0-0-

_I have to say that this is the first time I've stuck with a WIP this long so I'm quite proud to have reached chapter 11 and I'm grateful for all the reviews and favourites. I hope I'll finish this so that I don't disappoint so many people_.

_I'm probably more than half way through now and I don't normally add chapter endnotes on my interpretation of my own way of writing characters but I thought I might do it this time so that people can compare it to any of their own._

_1. Martha's behaviour: My own view is that she is still mostly acting out of sympathy and the fact that Jones can sympathise with her own unrequited love. He does sympathise, but I think he might also be jealous that The Doctor has someone who is seemingly devoted to him, hence occasional hostility towards Martha. (I am however writing with a degree of ambiguity so if people see that there's something else there then I'm glad, because it means I'm doing something right!)_

_I thought the way Martha was portrayed in new series 3 of Doctor Who was a bit unfair a times. It felt like she only cared about The Doctor (because he's pretty) and whenever she was separated from him she'd be paired off with the nearest (attractive) supporting male. One of the reasons I specifically wanted Martha in this story was because it gives me a chance to explore how she'd relate to someone who was not only morally monstrous but physically grotesque also. I think Martha knows that Jones isn't a very nice person but she's also a clever girl so knows that his behaviour is often his way of hiding his pain._

_2. The Doctor parallels: Throughout the entire history of Doctor Who, The Doctor has usually been the voice of reason. He's been made more emotional in the revived series but I feel that the tenth Doctor especially denies exactly how much something is affecting him. In the new series 3 he's often very rude to Martha or shows off to cover up the pain of losing yet another companion and perhaps to ignore that Martha will one day be gone too. I find his rudeness in particular a less extreme version of the cruelty exhibited by one such as Davy Jones. The Doctor is being flippant because people expect him to be strong; likewise Jones clearly felt severely weakened by emotions and so uses cruelty as a way of emphasising his strength._

_3. Jack: I confess! The only reason The Doctor risked going to Shipwreck Cove in the first place was for Jack. In spite of an apparent dislike at first, I believe that The Doctor will recognise that Jack can be quite intelligent and is constantly scheming. He is a good person to have on side. The Doctor knows that Jack will do anything to preserve his lifestyle and so is tempting Jack with the prospect of stabbing the heart. Naturally The Doctor doesn't want this outcome but if I say any more I'll give my ending away!_


End file.
